


These Past Years

by thesinfulship



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Amnesia, Bisexual Diana (Wonder Woman), Depression, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Steve Trevor Lives, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 62,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesinfulship/pseuds/thesinfulship
Summary: War changes the heart. Steve had thought his might have been hardened beyond repair before he crash-landed in Diana's life. What followed changed not just his own world, but the world entire. The war was only the beginning. Steve survives, but then he and Diana begin a century-long journey of separation, growth, and discovery.





	1. Chapter One: Steve, 1918

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is likely to be the longest. I had the most to unpack right from the start, including quite a bit from the movie that I wanted to revisit and expand upon. I've taken some liberties here and there with the timeline and with little details for my own purposes, so there may be some inconsistencies, but I tried to remain faithful to the spirit of the movie. Here lies a fix-it fic, because when Steve died, so did my soul.

Steve had been a bit of a late bloomer, by both his own admission and judging from what the boys at basic said. Not that he believed all their stories - he was a man himself, after all, and he knew how men liked to appear to each other. He would have bet good money that Johnny Briggs had not, in fact, bedded two vaudeville stars before his eighteenth birthday, nor had Howard Cross had a dozen girls, each more beautiful than the last. Steve also preferred not to kiss and tell, out of respect for the other party. When pressed hard, he would provide the scant details, nothing more, and he always bore the teasing with a good-natured laugh.

Steve’s first time had been shy and quiet, probably more clumsy than he cared to remember. He had been twenty, the girl a year younger and covered in freckles, and he had been so preoccupied with making sure he wasn’t hurting her that he had forgotten to keep kissing her during the act itself. It hadn’t lasted very long, and he had apologized for that a few times. She was sweet about it, though, telling him that she enjoyed it just fine. It was a kind lie, and he knew it was a lie, but he appreciated it even so. There were a few dates on either side of that night, but nothing really came of it, in the end. They didn’t see much of each other after that, and she was married two years later to a grocer a town away.

There had been a handful of times with a girl who worked in a flower shop, who he took to some dances when he could and who wrote beautiful letters. He told her over and over that she ought to be a poet or a novelist, but she always pulled away from the idea. Steve thought she was one of the best writers he’d ever read. He hoped she never gave it up entirely.

Then there had been the woman he met in the pub, who was plump and probably a few years older than the 25 she claimed to be, but who wore enough rouge that it was hard to be sure. She had been blonde and a little loud, and she had made Steve laugh so hard he choked a bit on his beer. The boisterous nature of her company carried over to her manner in bed. He had been left a little shocked and not a little drained. He forgot her name, but not the jokes she had told. Those jokes made a lot of men laugh years later, in muddy trenches and around chilly campsites.

There was the sharp-eyed woman in New York, whose accent still suggested the old country and whose liberal attitude set her far apart from her family. She had really been something. Steve hadn’t been so taken with anyone in a long time, admiring how she spoke so openly of women’s rights and refused to back down when confronted.

Then there was a French girl. He had sworn he wouldn’t be one of those soldiers who romanced the local girls who liked a uniform, but she was the first pretty thing he had seen in a while. Even better, she was blunt and frank about what she wanted, and she had a boldness and confidence in her manner that he couldn’t resist, and he found himself between her legs before he could reason himself out of it. He seemed to be developing a type.

There was a working girl once, but he didn’t like to think about it.

Then there was one hell of a dry spell.

And then there was whatever the opposite of a dry spell is, when he had several missions in a row that required him to use his good looks and natural charm to lie his way into the bed of this countess or that wife of a general, gaining access to loose lips and unlocked desks. It always left a sour taste in his mouth. 

So, back to a dry spell it was, not that he really noticed given how busy the godforsaken war kept him. By the end of each day, he was so physically and mentally exhausted that he barely even had time to miss it. Once in a while, he’d see a pretty face or get an appreciative look and feel that little something, but he was not a man who was easily distracted. The war had covered most every good thing over with blood and dirt. Music gave Steve a headache, sounding too chaotic, flutes too much like the whistling of bombs and drums too much like bullets for comfort. He once had a good ear for a tune, but now he could hardly pick a melody out of the simplest song. Food didn’t seem to have much of a taste, though that didn’t bother him as much as perhaps it should have. He rarely ate for pleasure anymore anyway - no time for that kind of thing. Food was about filling his belly enough to keep marching. And as for a woman’s touch, well, that sort of thing would just have to wait.

Stay on mission. That was the plan. Stay on mission, hopefully survive, maybe meet someone and settle down and see if there was anything to the notion after all. Not that he really thought there was, or at least not for most people. His own parents had practically been a fairy tale, seemingly deliriously happy every day for nineteen years until Steve’s father had died. He remembered the endless advice given from the bed, his father looking nothing like the strong soldier-turned-farmer Steve had always known anymore.

_“If you love someone, you tell them. You tell them every day, because you don’t know which day will be the last. And then if you’re lucky enough to know it’s the last, you say it louder,” his father had said, voice reedy from exhaustion._

_Steve remembered his father trying to tell his beloved wife he loved her one last time, stammering over the words, trying to make them ring out through the room, even as dropsy stole away his voice. His mother’s voice gentling him through the pain, singing softly, a favorite song. His father wheezing as he tried to join in for a last lyric, fading out before the last word. The break in his mother’s voice when she realized her husband would never sing with her again, when she realized he had gone. The way she held his hand until she was forced away._

_Love like that was not exactly an everyday occurrence._

It wasn’t so much that Steve was a complete cynic or had entirely given up on love, it was just that he couldn’t think about that sort of thing then. There wasn’t the time, the energy, the need. He had seen too much. Heard too many cries to even long to hear a giggle anymore. He still laughed and smiled, and genuinely so, by some miracle. But underneath it all, the constant echo of guns and screams, the stench of the trenches, the gray, gray, gray of the earth, dug into his heart and threatened all moments of levity with their presence. He thought he had reached the bottom of it, seen the pit of humanity. How could he not have, when he had seen civilians dragged from their homes, children starving and bloodied? Surely, _surely_ , there could not be anything worse.

The depths of Steve’s capacity to be incorrect astounded him, when he looked back.

Later, when he found himself seconds away from drowning after crashing his plane, fresh from stealing a notebook full of formulas for death, he had one brief thought:

_It isn’t going to stop._

His own failure crushed his heart more than the increasing pressure of the water as he slipped further down, thinking for a second he might have seen someone above him. Perhaps an angel judging him before his death, determining his worthiness. Perhaps just an invention of his dying mind as he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

***

_It was an angel after all_ , he thought when he opened his eyes and saw the beautiful - _beautiful_ \- face smiling gently at him.

“Wow.”

Once he had given his eyes a second to adjust, he realized she was flesh and blood and a woman with a smile that made him forget the impending threat for a moment. A woman willing to jump into battle along with a staggering amount of other women, each as tall and strong and beautiful as the next. If Steve hadn’t been too busy killing Germans to think about it, he might have entertained the notion that he had in fact drowned and that this exquisite island populated entirely by bold, outspoken women was heaven after all. As it was, the battle had devastating consequences that kept any such musings from his mind. Fairly enough, the women questioned him - stopping just short of torture, considering their interrogation method. But then they treated his wounds, gave him the first food in a long time that tasted of any kind of joy, and led him to a bath.

It was _warm_. Almost hot, but pleasant, not like the lasso’s burn. Something about the water...tingled a bit. And it glowed. Steve amused himself for quite some time just watching it glow around him, feeling a bit like when he was three and his father made him a little wooden boat to play with in the bath. For a little while, he felt greatly soothed, nearly able to forget the outside world and all that came with it. When the angel on the beach returned - who he had since learned was named Diana - he felt more like himself, enough so that he even managed to flirt a little bit.

_Not now, Trevor. No time for that sort of thing._

He said that over and over to himself each time he saw Diana, practically chanting it like a mantra in his head by the time they were lying side-by-side on a little sailboat on their way to England. It had been far too long since he had felt that kind of exquisite warmth beside him, since he had breathed in a scent anything like her hair, which had shaken loose sometime in the night. As the sun rose, he couldn’t help wondering what it might be like to touch her, to have her touch him.

_Not NOW, Trevor._

Steve learned many things about Diana in the days that followed. He learned that glasses only made her more beautiful and that he was secretly relieved when the pair he insisted she wore broke, that she could stop a bullet before he even realized it had been fired, that the kindness she radiated was equal to the fierceness she displayed in the face of wrong. He learned that she would dress down a decorated officer as shamelessly as he could only dream of doing.

He learned that she had never had a nightmare before.

_“_ Diana. Diana. Wake up,” he said, his own heart still skipping from the sudden way he woke when she thrashed and kicked beside him. “Diana, it’s all right. Wake up.”

Diana hadn’t roused until he had placed his hand carefully on her shoulder, giving her the slightest shake. She sat up straight, breathing as hard as though she had been in a battle, looking very confused. Her eyes darted all over the place, her posture had gone defensive in an instant.

“It was just a nightmare,” Steve said, keeping his voice soft and even. “You’re all right.”

“A nightmare?” she asked, her own voice husky from sleep and stress.

“Yeah. Just a bad dream.”

She took another moment to try and slow her breathing, looking at him with those wide, dark eyes. Steve didn’t reach out for her again.

“I don’t...I’ve never…” she started.

“What, had a nightmare?”

She shook her head then, looking to him for an explanation.

“I suppose you never had reason to,” Steve said, as diplomatically as he could. “Wars tend to...bring that kind of thing out.”

“What are they for?” she asked, not really looking for an answer, but just musing as she accepted the water Steve offered.

“I guess they’re like any other dream. The mind wanders in sleep, and sometimes it wanders into hostile territory.”

Diana fell silent at that, and Steve watched her closely for a long moment.

“Do you want to tell me what you dreamed about?” he asked as gently as he could.

“It was...it was Antiope. On the beach. Only when she was wounded, she...I looked at her, and her limbs were suddenly half-gone and wrapped in bandages. She stared off into the distance, and I tried to speak to her, but…” Diana shook her head. “She could not hear me. Could not see me.”

Steve didn’t quite know what to say to Diana. There was no real comfort for someone who had seen what she had seen in such a short time. Violent invaders, friends and a beloved aunt slain by strange weapons, a home sacrificed, the dirt and grit of a new place, the distant stares of men and boys whose senses were still flooded by war, their bodies shattered and mutilated...all that before seeing so much as a moment in the trenches. He knew Diana was far from a sheltered child, despite her mother’s apparent efforts judging by what she had told him, but it had been a very rude awakening for her.

“Do you have dreams like that?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

“What makes you feel better?”

“I guess...just...remembering that I’m safe. That it wasn’t real, just pictures in my head. Trying to think about other things.”

“Like what?”

“Nice things. Uh...what it feels like to fly a plane, my favorite foods, that sort of thing.”

“And it helps?”

“Sometimes,” he says vaguely. “It’s better than nothing.”

She nodded, looking away thoughtfully. Steve leaned back and closed his eyes again, but sleep did not return.

***

The next day mostly consisted of slow travel. A cart here, a raft over water there. Coins handed to teenage boys working as unofficial toll operators, coins handed to little girls selling rolls and bottles of beer by the side of the road while hungry mothers nursed hungrier babies nearby. Most of the people they met were wholesome enough. Others less so.

“Those women,” Diana said, looking over at a trio of what were obviously prostitutes, flirting with a couple of soldiers. “Who are they?”

“They’re, ah...they…” Steve took a moment to figure out how to explain working girls to Diana. “They provide...companionship to men willing to pay for it.”

“Companionship? For pay?” Diana repeated.

“It’s...trade. You know. It’s how they make their living.”

“How can a world that keeps its women so covered and bound, that treats bodily pleasure with such disapproval, possibly allow these women to freely make their living with their bodies?”

“It’s actually illegal.”

Diana looked at him like he just grew a second head. “Nothing about it makes any sense.”

“Well, I agree with you there,” he said, sounding a little more weary than he intended.

“These desires are treated as something to be ashamed of and hidden away, so men are driven to seek out illegal activity to fulfill them? How can that possibly be considered a reasonable alternative to allowing people to feel as they feel? To express that and seek each other out when there is attraction and desire?”

“Diana, I agree, but it’s just not the way the world works.”

“And what about women? Do they have similar...services at their disposal? Are there men who offer this sort of thing to women?”

“Ah...I mean, yeah, probably? But I couldn’t tell you where to look for that sort of thing. It wouldn’t be nearly as popular. Men can sort of get away with lust and it’s mostly just frowned upon, but women…” Steve shook his head. “It’s a mess. I couldn’t possibly explain it.”

“These men who seek out the women who offer themselves up for trade, do they find fulfillment in such activities? Does it not seem hollow to them?” Diana asked, a little more loudly than Steve liked. He shushed her a bit, but she plowed on, hardly quieting. “When there is no true attraction or connection between the two, how can it be truly enjoyable? It is meant to be an expression, an act of physicality and emotion blending together. How can that be so when one person is being paid by someone they don’t even know? Or might feel indifferent to or even despise?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Well, that’s a big issue of mankind, I suppose. We’re not as good at putting emotions and physical expression in the same place as your people are. You make one part of it forbidden - the physical part - and the emotional part gets separated out. Which means it achieves exactly the opposite of what chastity is meant to, you know? Instead of people cheerfully saving themselves for their one true love and enjoying a lifetime of emotional and physical connection, you tend to wind up with really frustrated, repressed virgins who don’t have much of an outlet. It leads to people seeking out satisfaction in...unseemly places. Sometimes it comes out as violence, or indulging in something unhealthy, or...well…”

“Paying for the illusion.”

“Yeah.”

Diana scoffed a little. “I cannot believe how men can fool themselves.”

“They don’t. Or...well, I don’t think most do, anyway. But everyone is weak sometimes. And everyone needs companionship of some sort from time to time.”

“But that’s exactly what I mean! Everyone is in need of companionship and clearly, men and women are both interested in bodily pleasures, so-”

“Diana. You’ll give yourself a headache trying to make sense of it.”

She let out a little harrumphing sound that would have been amusing if Steve didn’t feel his neck burning red at the topic of conversation.

“I am glad that you are beyond such nonsense,” said Diana.

“I’m not,” Steve quietly admitted.

Diana stopped and looked at him. “Do you mean...you…”

“Yeah. Once. A few years back.”

They were both standing still then, Diana’s dark eyes boring a hole through Steve as he didn’t quite meet her gaze. He had never told anyone about that night, the night with the red-haired woman who smelled of cigarettes and strong perfume, who had been more than willing to give him something to think about that wasn’t the boy whose arm had gotten blown off or the man who had sobbed out the names of his daughters with his dying breaths or the sickly children ushered around by nurses or -

“So you have been a...patron,” Diana said, bringing Steve back to the present.

“Yeah.”

“And what was it like?”

Steve looked up at her, a little startled. “Excuse me?”

“You have been with other women, yes? Women you cared for?”

“I...yeah. Yes.”

“What was it like to be with a woman you did not care about?”

“That’s...I wouldn’t say I didn’t care, I just...didn’t know her.”

“What was her name?”

“Uh...I...think it was something like...well...I don’t actually remember.”

“So you do not agree with this institution, yet you have contributed to it willingly.”

“Yeah, add it to the liar, murderer, smuggler list, I suppose.”

Diana blinked. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know. I know you didn’t,” Steve said, giving his head a little jerk to indicate that they needed to keep walking. “To answer your question, it was...it was a moment of weakness, and I just needed - wanted - to feel something good for a little while. Take my mind off of things. It was no more than that.”

“Did it help?”

“For a night.”

Diana quietly considered that for a little while, and Steve tried to stop bristling.

“What about these women who do such work? They have no protection of law if it is illegal,” Diana asked suddenly.

“No, they don’t. And they often find themselves in trouble because of it,” said Steve, looking around for a clearer path than the one clogged up by a woman arguing with three officers over something or other that would probably lead nowhere. “A lot of the time, it’s easier to arrest the women than to track down the men who buy their services, so the women pay the price. Some clients can be terrible to them. It can be dangerous. It’s...it’s not often a career someone gets into because they want to. Not the way you’ll see here, anyway. There’s no fairness to it, but people do all sorts of unsavory things to survive. Especially in war times.”

The look on Diana’s face tugged at his heart. In a very short time, Steve had discovered that disappointing her ideas of what men were at their core came coupled with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It felt something like the time his mother caught him saying something cruel to another boy. He had never forgotten the look on her face, the way she had quietly said “that boy I saw today is not the boy I thought I raised”, and the way it felt to try to prove himself again to her, to show her he wasn’t all bad. His mother had noticed his efforts and pulled him into a tight hug, murmuring to him that she never expected him to be all good all the time, just that she expected him to try. He wondered what she really thought of him now, if she had any idea of the things he had done in this war. He wondered if she still saw him as the boy she raised anymore, the boy she loved, or if he had become a stranger she had to accept.

He felt a little touch on his arm and looked to see Diana, concern on her face, and he realized he had been lost in thought for a while. He cleared his throat.

“But we’re here to make things better,” he went on, continuing his earlier thoughts and hoping to put light back on her face. “We’re doing something.”

***

She was a true warrior. He was lucky to be her second. Lucky to be a witness. He saw a miracle in her, one he could never understand, never deserve.

They won the day. She won it for them.

A little party in the town square, sweet people walking up to wring Steve’s hand, old ladies kissing his cheeks, men offering beer and cigarettes, couples dancing to a scratchy record under soft lighting in the cold.

Life.

When Steve danced with Diana in the square, when he tipped his head against hers and closed his eyes, he felt life coursing through his veins in a way he had forgotten. The idea of saying goodnight to her was agonizing, but he knew he had to. Had to be a gentleman, had to respect her as she deserved. Hand on the door, ready to close it behind him after a quiet pleasantry, he felt his heart jump to his mouth when she fixed him with a look that could only be an invitation.

Kissing her felt like breathing in joy. She was warm and soft and so, so strong, so strong it was beyond comprehension. She handled him gently, and he learned that he liked that. Being treated like something fragile might have bruised his ego in another situation, but when it was Diana touching him carefully like that, it felt so tender it nearly broke his heart.

“Diana...if you...if y-you aren’t sure about anything…” he said, cursing the childhood stutter that slipped out for just a second.

“I am sure,” she whispered, the low rasp of her voice sending a chill down Steve’s spine. “I am certain.”

He nodded. “You tell me if you change your mind.”

“And you tell me if you do.”

He nodded again. “Promise.”

He let her lead, let her explore. Layers of clothing were slowly shed between kisses, kisses that were warm and long and deep and everything the outside world could not offer. In that little room in that little inn, time seemed to stop.

“So many old wounds,” Diana murmured upon seeing Steve’s bare chest up close, and she touched a particularly deep scar on his ribs that made him tense involuntarily. She removed her hand. “I’m hurting you.”

“No. No, it’s not...it doesn’t hurt. It’s just...you know,” Steve mumbled, and he guided her hand a little to a less-marked expanse of skin instead.

Diana shook her head, frowning. “It’s what?”

“It’s, uh...it’s not exactly my best feature.”

“It’s a scar.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t understand.”

It was Steve’s turn to frown a little, not sure where the misunderstanding was occurring. “It’s a scar. So it’s...it’s torn-up skin that healed, but left that mark. So...so it’s kind of ugly. All of them are, I guess. I try not to pay too much mind to them.”

“You think these marks are ugly?” Diana asked, and she brought her fingertips to another scar, a newer one that was still a little sensitive to touch. “These were won in battle. Battles that you survived. They are signs of your valor. They are your story. Proof that you have lived.”

Steve blinked at her, watching as she leaned in tentatively and pressed a little kiss to a scar on his shoulder. Goosebumps rose all over his skin at the touch of her lips.

“That one was actually from a shovel falling off the barn wall when I was twelve. But that shovel put up quite a fight,” he said, laughing at the grin on her face.

“You have lived a life, Steve,” said Diana, and she kissed the breath out of him.

On the bed, it was his turn to explore her. He wished at first that his hands weren’t quite so rough, but the way she shivered under his touch had him rethinking that soon enough. He touched and kissed all along the outline of her body, almost silently as he drank in the sight of her. She was beauty beyond description, beyond poetry, not that Steve was much of a poet in the first place. He settled for a simple “so beautiful” murmured against her neck and hoped it might suffice. He lifted up to look at her, and the smile on her face nearly stopped his heart entirely.  

“Do you still want this?” Diana asked quietly.

Steve nodded. “But you’ve never...been with a man, so…”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I want to be sure this is...that it’s...enjoyable for you,” he said with a little blush he hoped the dim light hid.

“You want guidance,” said Diana, full of understanding.

“I mean, I’ve done this before, I’ve done this enough times to know what I’m doing, I just…” Steve dropped his head against her shoulder and laughed at his stammering. “What I mean is, yes, I want you to be able to tell me if you like or don’t like anything.”

“And you will do the same?”

“I will.”

Diana shifted then, arranging them so that Steve was below her, and she gently ran her hand down his body. He felt himself twitch when she drew closer to his hips, and he winced a little.

“Sorry, that’s...I’m really…”

“Is that painful?” Diana asked, eyeing Steve’s erection, which probably looked a little alarmingly flushed to her.

“It’s not painful, it’s just, uh...sensitive.”

“May I?”

She held out a hand, and when Steve nodded, she very gently wrapped it around him. He breathed slowly through his nose as she moved her hand a little, testing him out.

“What does that feel like to you?” she asked.

“It’s...it feels good. Really good.”

“This is something you like?”

“It is.”

“And if I kept going…”

“Yeah. I’d - yeah.”

“Do you want to?”

“I, uh...no, I...I don’t want to like that. If that’s okay.”

She stopped moving her hand, to both his relief and dismay, and she nodded. Steve sat up and took a few slow breaths as they returned to their earlier position of Diana on her back, and it was his turn to touch her. He had planned to ask permission as she had done, but it was unnecessary since she guided his hand between her legs, to the incredible warmth, the wet softness of her. It was all he could do not to groan in an undignified way when her breath caught in her throat as his fingers grazed over the hard little bud. He circled there, carefully watching her face as he tested the speed and pressure she might like. It was easy enough to tell when he struck gold, because she let out the most beautiful sound in her throat, which he kissed again and again.

He let his fingers dip a little lower and waited until she nodded before letting one slip inside, so easily it almost shocked him and gave him the confidence to move a second finger inside. Diana made a quiet little noise at that, sounding almost surprised, and he stilled.

“No?” he asked.

“It...it feels good,” she breathed. “Please, go on.”

He did as she asked, moving his fingers in and out slowly, experimenting with the angle and pressure as he had before. She made another one of those incredible husky sounds when he found what she liked best, and he wished more than anything that he could hear it a thousand more times. He pressed inside her, his thumb still working on the outside, his lips against her mouth and cheek and neck, anywhere he could kiss. He felt her grab at his arm and squeeze a bit, and he thought for a second it might be her trying to stop him, but instead she was urging him to move a little faster. He obeyed, wanting nothing more than her pleasure.

It happened quickly, a sudden sharpness in the sounds she made as she contracted tightly around his fingers. Steve stared down at her as she rocked her hips against his hand to ride out the waves of sensation, and when she finally went still and pushed at his hand, he moved it away. Her eyes were still closed, so he leaned down to kiss the lids gently, feeling her long eyelashes brushing against his lips like a whisper. He pulled back and just stroked her hair a little, waiting patiently for her to come down. He would have waited for eternity if she had needed it. When her eyes fluttered open, they were alight with a fire he hadn’t yet seen. She smiled up at him and pulled him down, kissing him with a new passion. He smiled back even as they kissed.

“Very good, Steve Trevor,” she said, playing at the crinkles by his eyes with her fingertips, her own eyes sparkling.

He laughed a little. “Did I pass the test?”

“There was no test. But if there had been, then yes.”

Steve laughed again and kissed her, kissed down her chin to her neck and collarbone. Maybe that would be all she wanted from him that night. Maybe she would want to say goodnight. Maybe he would have to pull away from her and get dressed and walk down the hall to his room and make it all the way inside before finding his own relief alone. Maybe -

His concerns were baseless, as it turned out, because she lifted up to kiss him again.

“Diana...do you want…” he asked as soon as he had breath to spare, and Diana nodded. “All right. But there’s...we have to...there’s risk involved, so…”

“No,” she said softly. “Not at this time.”

“You...oh,” said Steve. “You mean…”

“It’s safe for me. I know my body very well.”

“That’s pretty impressive.”

She smiled at him again, and Steve found himself being completely, thoroughly kissed a moment later, being cradled by her body. He kept his hips carefully drawn back.

“How do you want this?” he asked.

Diana turned them as her response. “I think this way, to begin with.”

Steve nodded, looking up at her perfect form in amazement, too taken with her to speak. He reached out to touch her, his hands running up her sides to her breasts, thumbs brushing over her gently.

“Take your time,” he whispered, and she nodded.

He put his hands on her hips, very gently holding her there. As before, she took him in hand, stroking a few times before guiding him to the center of her. The hint of warm wetness nearly overwhelmed him for a second, but he breathed through it and focused his attention on her face and on holding very still. She sank down so slowly, stopping a couple of times to adjust to him. He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm as she settled, as she surrounded him so completely. Her eyes had been closed for the past minute or so, but she opened them then, the rich darkness of them the most precious sight in Steve’s memory.

She rocked a little, starting to test the waters, holding Steve’s gaze. He clenched his jaw, watching as she swayed so gently over him, her hair loose and long and cascading over her shoulders. If he found out later that this was all a dream, he could hardly be disappointed, because what a perfect dream it would be. As Diana found a rhythm that suited her, she sighed and let her eyes shut, her lovely face reflecting everything she felt.

“Diana,” Steve said, reaching for her cheek. “Is this...is it good?”

She nodded fast, eyes still closed. “It’s wonderful.”

Her eyes opened then, and she leaned down without stopping the rolling motions of her hips so she could kiss him. A moment later, he felt her pulling at him, urging him to sit up so that they were on equal ground. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him as she moved, providing support and care. He kissed anywhere he could reach, from the shell of her ear to the hollow of her throat to the edge of her shoulder, returning to kiss her lips over and over. He moved just a little under her, not too much, not wanting to push things too quickly, and she moaned in response. He kept moving, countering her movements with his own, their rhythm so right and sweet it made Steve’s throat tighten. They worked together, bringing each other closer and closer to the pleasure they sought, lost in each other. Steve’s hand was tangled in Diana’s hair, both of her hands gripped at his shoulders, and her mouth fell open against his as she began to make those same wondrous sounds she had made the first time she had reached her peak.

“Diana,” Steve whispered, wanting to say something else but finding his mind too blank to come up with anything.

A moment later, he felt her tip over the edge, felt that incredible tightening around him, her back arching against his arms. He held her as steadily as he could, watching and feeling her as she went through it. When she quieted and her eyes fluttered open, fixing him with a dazed, satisfied expression, he felt himself aching almost beyond what he could take. Just when he was about to ask if she was all right, to prepare to do the polite thing and ignore his increasingly urgent need, she began to move again. The surprise of it made him gasp, and he probably sounded completely ridiculous, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Diana was letting her hips roll faster, and it felt so good, but he couldn’t quite get there like that. She must have been able to tell, because she put a hand on his face and spoke in a low, breathless voice.

“You may do what you need, Steve. Go on,” she said, fixing him with that same gaze that had gotten him into her room in the first place.

Steve trusted her, and he rolled them so that he was over her. He could move more freely, longer and deeper strokes into her that made him groan against her neck. Only a moment later, his hips shook with it, the ache changing into a pleasure he had never felt so acutely. He made harsh, panting sounds, his breath hot against her skin, and when he came back into his head enough he could feel her rubbing his back. She was comforting him. She was holding him. The tenderness of it took his breath away, and he lifted up to look down at her, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

Diana smiled at him. “Clio might have reached a different conclusion if she had met you.”

“Don’t inflate my ego too much, I’m already insufferable,” Steve laughed, feeling lighter than he had felt in as long as he could remember.

Diana laughed as well, and she pulled him down to kiss. That went on for what felt like a long time, just the two of them in that bed, kissing and touching each other and allowing joy to light their hearts. Sleep came to her eventually, Diana’s head resting on Steve’s chest and his hand over hers where it lay on his heart. He could feel the silk of her leg against his own beneath the covers, could feel the gentle press of her breaths as she dreamed. A treacherous thought entered his mind in the moments before he drifted off, something as beautiful and dangerous as the woman in his arms.

He loved her.  


***

His father's advice rang in his ears in the moments before he said goodbye to Diana. So he told her he loved her, and he said it loudly.

He thought of the way she smiled at him on the beach just before he pulled the trigger.

***

He woke to pain, pain of the sort that twisted him from the inside out. His entire body shook with it, trying to throw it off. He looked down at his arms and nearly vomited on the spot. He would have been sick indeed if he hadn’t been so entirely dry, so completely empty. His throat felt like a desert, his stomach a boiling pit. The charred flesh all over his body gave explanation enough for why. If he’d had water for tears, he would have begun to sob from the pain. Instead, all he could do was scream without sound, heave without result.

How long the pain continued, why he couldn’t just die from it all, he could not know. He knew it was Hell, that much was certain. Hell for sins he could not remember. He could not even remember his own name. That must have been part of his punishment - an eternity of misery without knowing why. Or perhaps not knowing why was to be his one mercy. To be in such pain forever must have resulted from his being a true monster in life, the most evil of all. Why else would this be happening to him? He could not believe that God would be vengeful enough to punish the most simple sins like this. No, it was certain that he must have done something to deserve this unending torment.

When the pain subsided slightly, when the burns on his arms faded, he began to rethink his theory a bit. This couldn’t be Hell. There is no healing in Hell.

It subsided some more, gradually. Thirst burned him from the inside out, hunger tore at his belly, but he could walk.

So he walked.

He walked for days, all the while feeling his body healing, though he found no relief from the desperate need to eat and drink and sleep. He should have died from starvation and dehydration. He should have hallucinated from sleep deprivation. Why wouldn’t he die?

When he finally found civilization, some town where everyone spoke French - he knew French, though he could not possibly understand how he knew it or why he knew he knew it - he collapsed in the doorway of the nearest home. A whole family jabbered at once, and he could hear women and girls shrieking at the sight of him while a man and a teenage boy carried him inside.

Water. Soup. Bread. Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.


	2. Chapter Two: Diana, 1921

"Darling, tea, would you?”

Diana glanced up from her desk, feeling the usual tug of frustration at being addressed like that and at being treated like she didn’t have better things to do than make a perfectly competent man a cup of tea, but she swallowed it down and put on a smile. 

“Milk and sugar?” she offered as mildly as she could. 

Her boss, a man named Edgar Ruffin, whose ruddy beard he kept obsessively neat and trimmed and who never stopped fiddling with the buttons on his jacket, was a nice enough man, and generally progressive in comparison to many of his peers. He had never questioned Diana’s abilities or spoken to her like she was a silly child as some men tended to, and he fully supported all women having the vote, not just householders over 30, and didn’t mind saying so, loudly and often. But once in a while, society caught up with him, and he’d call Diana by some endearment he hadn’t earned and ask her to fetch his tea or run some other errand that wasn’t actually part of her job. It was frustrating, but she knew she needed to blend in if she was going to make it in this world. 

“Please,” said Edgar. “Thank you, dear.”

Diana made his tea, and some for herself as well, and brought it over. She noticed the troubled look on Edgar’s face and glanced down at the papers he was reading. 

“That’s a mistranslation,” she said, pointing at the passage he seemed to be struggling with the most. 

“Is it?”

“It should read ‘brought into the harbor’.”

“Ah. Well, no wonder I was confused. Thank you,” said Edgar, making a note in the margins. “Have you got the reports from yesterday?”

“On my desk.”

“Do you mind?” 

Diana brought over all the translated documents and set them down before Edgar, who began poring over them. Her work at the newspaper, translating and transcribing reports and articles from other languages, had been easy enough to get once she had impressed Edgar with the wealth of her knowledge, but she’d had to play down her skills somewhat in order to pass as a normal person. She and Etta had giggled a little at the idea of it, Diana pretending she’d had a linguist for a father and moved all over Europe as a child, pretending she only knew eight languages instead of nearly all of them. 

Edgar looked up at her with an appreciative little smile. “These are excellent.”

“I took your advice,” Diana said modestly. 

“Yes, so I see. You have quite a talent for writing, you know. I’m sure you’ve been told before.”

“Only once or twice.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. She had received the compliment from a tutor on Themyscira as a young girl, when she had composed a poem for her mother. Hippolyta had also lavished praise on her, though perhaps her enthusiasm had been partly out of relief that her daughter seemed more interested in a safe pastime than in fighting. Little did she know.

“Only once or twice? Really?” Edgar sounded disbelieving. “I’m surprised you haven’t considered journalism, truth be told. You’d be a natural at it.”

“Do you really think so?” 

“Oh, certainly. You might think about it.”

“Yes, I might.”

“I’d be more than happy to help you get a foot in the door. Mind, you’d have to help me find someone who can translate Italian at the speed you can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get all this filed away before day’s end. Thank you, Diana,” said Edgar, giving her a polite little nod.

Diana left Edgar’s office and sat at her desk, a little lost in thought. It wasn’t that she had never thought of journalism or hadn’t had any interest in it, but she hadn’t been sure she could pursue it and still keep a low profile. Etta’s advice had been to find something interesting to do that didn’t draw too much attention and keep the bills paid. It would help to keep her true identity hidden. Something like being a woman in journalism would not quite be low profile. 

Still, though...the thought was awfully tempting.

***

Seeing Etta always made things a little brighter. Her cheery nature was downright contagious, and her apparently never-ending supply of the best sweets in the city made a visit to her flat the highlight of Diana’s week. They’d had a regular date for tea since the end of the war, meeting every Saturday afternoon to catch up. Etta was one of a handful of people who knew Diana’s true identity, but of that handful, she was the only woman, and her company had been invaluable to Diana as she had adjusted to life in London. She had become more than a friend to Diana, she had become a true sister. 

That particular Saturday, Etta’s usual bubbly countenance seemed somewhat dampened. Her tight hug was no less genuine, and her smile wasn’t forced, but she just seemed...off, somehow. Diana said nothing about it until she noticed Etta wasn’t paying as much attention to the sandwiches Diana had brought as she normally would. 

“Etta,” Diana said gently. “What is it? You seem troubled.”

“Troubled? Oh. No, no, not troubled, not at all,” Etta said with a little clink of her teacup on the saucer. 

“Is it work? Is that ridiculous man still giving lectures?”

Some time back, Etta had sighed and shaken her head all afternoon about a man she had begun to work with, a man who had taken it upon himself to “educate” her about things she not only understood, but had been doing for several years longer than he had. The lectures were long-winded and near-constant, and no matter how many times she had found ways to quiet him, he always seemed to find something else to prattle on about. 

Etta shook her head. “It’s not that at all. There was...oh, it’s silly. There was a leak that sprang in my ceiling on Thursday and I had to rush to move all my things out of the line of fire, and in doing so, I found…”

“You found what?”

Etta took a breath, apparently debating something with herself for a moment, and then she stood and walked over to her bookshelf. When she returned, she had a little book filled with papers, some loose and some fixed, as well as some photos. She opened the book to a certain page and handed it to Diana. 

“What is this?” Diana asked before looking at it. 

“A diary. I’ve kept them since I was a girl. I dropped this while I was getting it out of the way of the water and it fell open to this page, and...I had forgotten about it completely, but...well, just look.”

Diana began to read Etta’s neat script: 

_ T continues to worry me. The man believes he can run on nothing but air and tea, to say nothing of how often he doesn’t bother to turn on the good lamp in his office. He will be blind by the time he reaches forty years, if he manages to make it that far and doesn’t work himself to death first. Despite the fact that I spend about as much time practically force-feeding him as I do taking care of the tasks he assigns me, I must say that he is easily the most pleasant man I have ever worked for. He is a decent and fair man, and a thoughtful one. This world has exploded into war and he remembered my birthday, giving me a lovely pin to replace the one I mentioned losing some weeks back. I suppose that’s what makes him so good at what he does - the attention to the sort of details most would miss.  _

_ Different about him too is the way he speaks to me. I have worked for men who think that I have nothing at all between my ears, meanwhile they can’t so much as make themselves a cup of tea. Still others took it upon themselves to remark on my figure or my style. One man whose name I hope to forget in old age once told me how much he enjoyed working with “a girl whose name was as sweet as her bosom”. It might not be terribly shocking to learn I did not continue to work with him for another day. But T has never once displayed anything but affable professionalism, and indeed a complete trust in my competence. Pleasanter still is the fact that he has an excellent sense of humor. _

_ There was quite a funny moment today. Sylvia came by the office to drop off some books she had borrowed. I asked her why she didn’t simply bring them round the flat, and she whispered, quite conspiratorially, “and miss the chance to get a glimpse of the dashing American? You must be mad.” _

_ T, only the moment before she said that, had emerged from behind his desk to ask me something and overheard the whole thing. He cleared his throat and put on the most winning version of his smile - he has a very nice smile, you must understand, a very bright and charming one - and, believe me, I do not exaggerate in the slightest...he leaned against the doorway in a pose I can only describe as “Heathcliff on the moors”. And then, as Sylvia blushed as crimson as can be, the man winked at her. I thought she might faint then and there. Poor Sylvia nearly broke an ankle in her hurry to run away, and T laughed more heartily than I’ve ever seen. I may have given his arm a little smack, but I couldn’t help laughing as well. It felt good to see him being a little silly and looking happy. I admire that about him, that for all he has seen in his years in the military and for all that must weigh on his heart, he has managed to keep his sense of humor about him. _

_ He leaves tomorrow for a mission I cannot write about. I always worry when he leaves, not because I doubt him, but because I hate to think that it will be the mission that robs him of his smile for good. Too many men and boys have been robbed of theirs. _

Diana looked up from the diary at Etta, her heart in her throat. Etta was looking down at her tea, clearly trying not to cry.

“I wrote that the day before he left for the mission that led him to you,” Etta said quietly. “When I read it again, all I could think was what a good man he had been, and how awful it was that he...that he had to...oh, why am I saying all this to you when you know it all better than anyone?

Diana was quiet for a moment. It wasn’t that she thought she had a monopoly on grief or that she hadn’t seen firsthand how painful the loss of Steve had been for everyone. But sometimes, with Etta in particular, it was easy to assume she had managed to move on.

“Oh, Etta…” Diana moved closer to her friend and hugged her. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s a silly thing,” said Etta, pulling back to dab at her eyes. 

“It’s not. I know much you cared about him.”

“He was a good man, wasn’t he?”

“A very good man. I don’t know if he knew how good, but...he was.”

They sat quietly for a moment, the silence in the cozy flat serving as a brief memorial. Etta collected herself and refilled their cups, then put several more biscuits on Diana’s plate. 

“I have quite a few entries in that and another diary about him,” Etta said after some length of quiet. “Give me until our next tea date and I’ll transcribe them for you. You might like them.”

“Would you?” Diana asked, touched by the offer.

“Of course I would. It’ll be like visiting those days again. I’d quite like to do that.”

***

**_VELD,_ _1918_ **

_ “Excuse me, Miss?” _

_ Diana turned to see a soldier standing before her, a boy of no more than nineteen if she was generous. He had a sweet face covered in grit, looking nervously at her but standing as straight as a tree.  _

_ “You left this back in the trench,” said the boy, holding out her cloak. “I thought...you might want it back. Only it’s cold here, especially at night.” _

_ Diana smiled at his thoughtfulness and stepped forward, taking the cloak from him. He had clearly done his best to clean it off for her. She stood a full four inches taller than him, and he looked up at her with awe in his eyes.  _

_ “Thank you,” said Diana, warm and genuine.  _

_ “Thank  _ you _ , Miss. You’ve saved us. All of us.” _

_ “What is your name?”  _

_ “Clarke, Miss. William Clarke.” _

_ “William Clarke,” Diana repeated. “You are a brave and kind man.” _

_ “Thank you, Miss.” _

_ “Where do you come from?” _

_ “London, Miss.” _

_ “I was in London only a few days ago. You are a credit to your home.” _

_ Clarke stood up a little straighter then, a little flash of something in his eyes that Diana recognized instantly as homesickness.  _

_ “Thank you, Miss,” he said, his tone a little slower and quieter then.  _

_ Diana smiled at him, and the boy’s answering smile was a sweet sight.  _

_ She remembered turning to see that Steve had witnessed that exchange, and that he had looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read at the time. It wasn’t until it was too late that she had realized he was looking at her with love. _

_ Some years later, she found out that William Clarke had married his sweetheart from home and had two fine sons. She found a picture of them that had been in a local newspaper article featuring veterans. His wife was an adorable, short, round woman with a smile that made her eyes almost disappear for how big and proud it was, and their boys inherited his wide nose and thin build. They looked happy. He looked happy. Despite everything he had seen and likely done in the war, despite spending the last days of his childhood in a trench surrounded by death, he looked happy.  _

_ The war couldn’t take everything. A weed could still push through the sidewalk now and then. _

***

A week later, Diana sat with a glass of sherry and Etta’s transcribed diary entries. Etta had, in true form, gone above and beyond her promise and created a real keepsake for Diana, putting the entries into a little book of their own so that Diana could really hold onto them. The first page even had an inscription. 

_ For the days when you need a reminder. Love always, Etta. _

Diana turned page after page, reading every word with care. The first entry documented Etta meeting Steve for the first time and made Diana laugh out loud. 

_ I believe I talked his ear off, but then as he is American, perhaps the reason he was so quiet was that he was trying to decipher my correct use of the English language.  _

She kept reading, finding that certain passages stuck out in her mind, as though asking to be reread over and over. 

_ Not that he hasn’t ever had his moments of handsomely brooding in the corner of his office, but a real shadow seems to have been cast over T these last few days that has me wondering what could be on his mind. _

Two pages later:

_ He returned with a sprained wrist and a tight lip. I tried to give him some quiet.  _

Still later:

_ Still no word from T. I try to remain optimistic. There is plenty of work to keep my mind occupied until I hear from him again. _

_ To be perfectly honest, I find it difficult to think of T as solely my employer. That isn’t to say that I feel any sort of romantic way about him, because I don’t, it may shock people to learn. The man is handsome, no doubt, and the sort of man who would be good for a woman, but the truth is that my admiration for him stops at that - at admiration. I appreciate him for who he is, truly, and I think often of how my life would feel quite a bit emptier without him in it. T is the type who adds something to every life he touches, even without meaning to, and it’s truly an honor to know him. _

Diana had to set the book down for a moment then, both to sip her sherry and to settle the way her stomach had started fluttering at the glimpse into how Etta had worried so much.

_ It’s becoming harder and harder to hope that T is still alive. He usually finds some way to contact me, no matter what, so to go without so much as a peep for weeks is quite unlike him. I continue to hope, but I am preparing myself to hear the worst.  _

Turning the page, Diana caught a glimpse of her own name in the next entry and smiled a tiny bit.

_ T lives, and to be honest, I’m a little ashamed that I thought he might not. He is the type of man who not only possesses a singular talent for getting out of a scrape, but he’s also simply a lucky sod. I think I nearly broke his ribs hugging him when he arrived, and the poor man was a bit stiff about it. That was a bit of a surprise - I’ve hugged him once or twice before, albeit ages ago, but then it was returned. I wonder sometimes about ways that the war affects him, ways that I can’t see, and perhaps that’s one of them. I suppose when one spends so much time around fighting and violence, one forgets that affectionate touches still exist.  _

_ He arrived in London with a new companion, and I confess I’m not quite sure what to make of her. I know I like her very much, but she is such an enigma that I find myself replaying our interactions in my mind to try and make sense of her. Her name is Diana, and she is an absurdly tall and beautiful woman who T is quite obviously taken with, even if he’ll never admit it. She seemed a bit odd at first - she tried to undress in the middle of Selfridges and apparently has absolutely no idea how our society works - but I saw her protect T against a volley of gunfire and use some sort of glowing rope on an agent to take him down. If I had any sort of real information about any of that, I would jot it down, but sadly all I have is the sense that I was in the presence of someone not quite as lowly as the rest of us.  _

It took Diana a moment to process that she had just read an account of someone’s first impression of her. She had never experienced that, and it was an odd sort of sensation. 

_ In any case, I find it quite a comfort to know that this Diana will be by T’s side as he goes off on this newest mission. She seems to be a good woman with a sharp mind. I’m certain she will be a credit to T’s ragtag team. In any case, she may bring a bit more dignity to the whole thing. It seems too that I’ve been given a bit of an unofficial promotion by Sir Patrick, so that should be quite interesting. If we are successful, we may be instrumental in bringing about peace at long last. I pray for such success. I pray for it with all my heart. _

Diana set the book down. That was enough for one night. That was more than enough. 

***

**NEW YORK CITY, 1921**

He has a name now. John Clayton. He chose it from a book once he stopped wondering about his real name.

He found a little room to rent. There’s not much to it. A little kitchenette, a bed, a toilet down the hall. The window looks out on the alley. He can see a young wife in the neighboring building, cooking soup on the little stove. She’s pretty. She’s pregnant. He wonders how far along she is, whether she’ll have a boy or a girl. He wonders what a life like hers must be like. He wonders what any life must be like. 

He looks in the mirror. He’s still a bit too thin for his height, but there’s not much to be done about that. He still doesn’t recognize himself. He knows he is himself, knows that the reflection shows his face, but he doesn’t know who that face truly belongs to. He feels outside himself more often than not, like a passenger in a body that he is borrowing from some other man. 

He sits on his bed with some whiskey. He should sleep. He can’t.

He’s lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things: 
> 
> First, THANK YOU to all who have left kudos, bookmarked, and commented. My heart is warmed by you all. 
> 
> So, I thoroughly enjoyed writing Etta's diary. I think Etta is a delight and deserves the world, so it was fun to try and give her a few more sides that she keeps mostly private. In case anyone was curious, the mention of Sylvia with no further explanation was just me deciding she has a pal named Sylvia who she wouldn't need to expand on in her own diary. Also, I've reasoned with myself that she wouldn't write out Steve's full name, and therefore just refers to him as T in order to keep even information about him safe. Etta's a goddamn professional. 
> 
> When it comes to Diana, I hemmed and hawed a lot over whether she seemed OOC in her work environment. The idea of Diana doing the whole "meek and mild" thing seems off, right? But it should! How many of us play that same part, swallow our pride and our words when we have to in order to get by? So don't worry, she's still the same Diana we all know and love, but she's doing what she has to do. For the moment. The fierceness shall return soon, never fear. For now, she is adapting.


	3. Chapter Three: Steve, 1932

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopping in to give a warning: within this chapter, there is mention and some discussion of suicide and suicidal thoughts. If you are sensitive to this issue, I strongly urge you to exercise caution. If you need help and want to reach out to someone, I have linked a list of resources in the notes at the end of this chapter.

 

The city had a rhythm. Steady, predictable, ordinary. Wake up, line up, swallow what little pride remained while waiting for work. If there was work, work, get paid, eat today. If there was no work, find another line. Or go home and try to sleep off the hunger. 

His name was Bowen Tyler then. He changed it two years ago when he wore out John Clayton. A man who doesn’t age can only get so much use out of one alias, after all, and can only stay in one place for so long. It was easy enough to find someone who could give him fake documents for his new identity, though paying for them was a bit harder. Money was not exactly something that came easily or lasted long these days. Still, though, he didn’t have much in the way of expenses. He didn’t need much. 

He hadn’t had luck with work for the past couple of days. Still, though, he kept trying. He walked from line to line, place to place, asking anywhere he could. By late afternoon, he knew he was out of luck for the day. He found a place to sit, a stoop where no one seemed to mind strangers, and watched the scene in the streets for a while. A man in the last line had been passing out some shoddily-rolled cigarettes for cheap, and messy as they were, it was better than nothing and certainly less expensive than one would find in a store, so advantage had been taken. He lit up and watched a group of kids play with some handmade toys on the sidewalk. A three-year-old little boy kept laughing so hard at his sister’s antics that it was nearly impossible not to smile a bit. Children didn’t know better than to smile. 

A rag doll was tossed with a little too much enthusiasm by one of the older boys, causing a girl to start wailing. It landed close to where Tyler sat smoking, so he picked it up and set his cigarette down before walking over to the girl, making a bit of a show of brushing it off for her. She took it and hugged it to her with such protectiveness it might as well have been a real baby. 

“Thank you, mister,” she said, big fat tears running down her cheeks. 

“Don’t you let these boys bully you, now,” said Tyler, and he gave the boys a warning look. “They clearly don’t know a tough girl when they see one. They’re bound to get themselves in trouble one of these days.”

“Yes, sir,” said the girl with a little hiccup.

“Good girl,” he said, and he gave her head a little pat before getting his cigarette and moving along. 

He turned up his collar and walked with crossed arms. The wind bit at him a little, stinging his lips, not leading him in any particular direction. Home, as much as the closet of a room could be considered home, lay a solid thirteen blocks behind him. He considered putting another thirteen between them. He never wanted to go back there. He hated that place. It felt cramped and drafty and dark, and he had so few personal possessions that it more resembled a jail cell than an apartment. It felt like a jail cell. He should know. He had landed himself in one a couple years back after getting in a bar fight. It wasn’t his fault, or at least he hadn’t intended to fight anyone, it’s just that a shattering glass had startled something deep within him, something he couldn’t place, and he had suddenly felt that he was in such danger that he had to fight his way out of it. Next thing he knew, he was behind bars, facing a fine or jail time. He couldn’t pay the fine, so he sat in the jail for twenty days. At least it meant regular meals. 

Walking felt right to Tyler. He was a little too good at it, and sometimes he’d lose himself in a long walk and suddenly realize he’d been out all night long, just walking aimlessly for hours and hours, miles and miles. He knew the story of the Wandering Jew, the man who taunted Jesus at the hour of his death and who was cursed to walk the earth until the second coming, though he couldn't say how he knew that story. Something tucked away from his forgotten life. He wondered sometimes if he were some iteration of the Wandering Jew, if his cursed life were because of some sin he couldn’t remember. 

“Mister, you want company?” 

He turned to see who had addressed him. A girl in a plain dress and no makeup but some overly bright lipstick tried to smile, pulling her dress off of one shoulder. She was sixteen if she was a day. Tyler walked over and pulled her dress back up. He pressed a quarter into her hand. 

“Go home. Take a night off,” he said to her obvious confusion. “Eat something, would you?”

“You don’t want…” the girl started, not quite understanding. 

“Not from a kid, I don’t. Get out of here. It’s cold. Go on.”

The girl tucked the quarter into the front of her dress and hurried off, checking over her shoulder in case it was a trick. Probably she had been tricked that way once before. It made him sick to think of it. Not that he could ever remember a gentle world, but these past few years had been especially hard to stomach. 

There had been this thing on his shoulder ever since he woke up covered in burns, ever since he had stumbled into that house full of nice people who nursed him back to relative health, ever since he took a ship to America on their dime despite his protests and promises to pay them back  (the matriarch of the house had all but smacked his hand at the notion). This thing on his shoulder, the sore little weight, would occasionally dig in, press down, and burn at his heart. He felt it then, felt it causing a familiar ache to wash over him. 

He could go days on end feeling somewhat fine. Feeling relatively normal. Feeling at least like he could function enough to get through the week. And then, once in a while, a sorrow so intense it took his breath away would arise, making his chest ache and his limbs fill with lead. Sometimes its appearance made sense, like when he lost his last steady job, but sometimes it just appeared out of nowhere. In the middle of a laugh with some strange fellows at the bar, right before he stepped into a bath, halfway through a sentence of a good book. There was no telling when the despair would arise or how sharp it would be when it did. 

That night, it felt like a sword.

He walked. 

The night clouded over, bringing with it a crisper cold than before. Tyler had walked nearly the length of the city, and his feet screamed at him for it. A few coins jingled in his pocket just as the inviting sound of a bar reached his ears. 

Hell, why not. 

He stacked all his money on the bar and asked what it would get him, much to the bartender’s amusement. Six little glasses were stacked in front of him, and the bartender filled the first with some amber liquid of questionable quality. It burned going down, to the point of pain, but it felt good. It felt like something rather than nothing. Tyler pressed the glass against his forehead until it left a pink impression, then dropped it onto the bar and waited for the next serving.

***

He had seven drinks, in all. The bartender gave him an extra one for no particular reason. He stumbled out of the bar, the sword in his gut twisting. 

He wasn’t a real person. 

He had no history. 

He had no real name. 

He had no friends. 

He had no family. 

He had no money.

He had no home - this would be especially true when he was inevitably late on rent again. 

He had no future. 

He had no past. 

He had no self.

Surely, then, he wouldn’t be missed.

_ Yeah _ , he thought as he walked, feeling like he was propelling at hyperspeed in the crisp chill of the night.  _ Yeah, there’s no one to miss me. What am I going to do, meet a girl and settle down for all of a decade before she realizes I’m not aging and leaves the freak? Find a job I like and have to leave once they see I look exactly the same at “36” as I did at “29”? _

It was no kind of prospect. 

He walked until he slipped and fell into a little pile of bricks, the pain numbed by chill and liquor. Despite the lack of pain, though, something still cracked in his chest then. He curled up on the ground. He was pitiful, pathetic, some kind of half-person, some broken shell. Was he crying? He wasn’t quite, but he was making sounds like it. He wanted to cry, because maybe that would feel like a release, but he couldn’t. Not even tears could come, because he wasn’t real. He wasn’t a real person. Real people aged and got sick and died. Real people had memories. Real people had real names.

He wasn’t real. 

He didn’t have a life. 

If he didn’t have a life, could he ever die?

He thought about it, there on the ground, not for the first time. He had mused about it so many times before, about whether this strange curse of his to heal and stay young had some purpose, about whether it could ever be defied to the point that he could shuffle off this mortal coil. Fourteen years had passed without so much as a new wrinkle on his face, fourteen years since he had awakened to the blinding pain of burned skin and rotting organs from God knew what he had inhaled in God knew what kind of accident. Fourteen years of being a blank page. 

Fourteen years too many. 

He sat up, sitting very still, thinking with the sudden clarity that sometimes came with heavy drink. Certainly, he could die. It was just a matter of tricking his rapidly-healing body. He couldn’t just jump off a bridge and expect that to work, he had to find all sorts of ways to keep his body too busy to heal him at once. Then, surely, one method would take, wouldn’t it? There had to be a way. 

There had to be a way. 

He felt a wave of shocking calm wash over him, warming him from within. That’s all it would take. Just a plan. A plan, a backup plan, backup to his backup. All he had to do was be smart about it, and he could just drift away, he could die as he must have been meant to fourteen years ago. No man should have survived what he had healed from. He was a fluke, a mistake, a curse. All he had to do was break the curse and he could be free. 

He could be free.

***

_ The bed of sand felt impossibly soft, impossibly warm. A gentle breeze, the soothing sound of waves, the call of birds, the sapphire-blue skies above him...this must have been heaven. There could be no other explanation.  _

_ Above him, an angel smiled down. An angel with the warmest eyes he had ever seen, the most loving. She looked at him like he was something precious, something to admire.  _

_ She began to walk, slowly. He followed her. He would follow her anywhere.  _

_ She turned again and looked at him. She touched his face.  _

_ “Stay.” _

_ That was all she said.  _

***

Tyler woke from the dream in intense pain. His head ached from alcohol, his back ached from pavement, and his neck ached from using a brick as a pillow. He was cold from sleeping on the street. 

He was alive. 

He still didn’t want to be, but something had shifted. Something was compelling him to abandon the plan to die. 

He walked again. 

He found a hospital. 

He walked in. 

He asked for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please know that you are not alone. There are lots of resources out there and lots of people ready to help. Please see the link below for a good place to start and stay safe <3
> 
> http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline


	4. Chapter Four: Diana, 1945

Woman after woman after girl after girl, all exhausted and gaunt and filthy. The stench of mud and unwashed bodies would have been enough to bruise the spirit. The dimness of their eyes was almost too much to bear. Some smiled, some wept, others reached out, but most looked dazed and shocked, leaning on each other for support.

Diana walked silently through the camp, strands of hay and grass sticking to the mud on her boots. A sound caught her attention, a clattering and several dull thuds behind a nearby building. Thinking it might be an officer attempting to get away, she hurried over, one hand already in a fist, but she relaxed it when she saw the source of the sound.

The clattering had come from a loose wheel on a cart; the dull thuds, the sound of several dead bodies falling before the cart had been steadied. The woman - no, the girl - who had been pushing the cart was pinned under the nude body of an elderly woman. A sour taste rose in Diana’s throat at the sight, at the indignity, at the horror of it. She easily and gently lifted the old woman’s body off the girl and knelt down.

“Are you hurt?” Diana asked, keeping her voice as low and soothing as she could. The girl shook her head. “You do not have to be afraid. I will not harm you.”

The girl looked up at her, all thick lashes on overly large eyes and thin, short hair under a scarf. She shook all over, unable to speak. Diana reached into her pack and pulled out a blanket. It was stiff and more itchy than soft, but it was thick and heavy enough to quell the girl’s tremors.

“Come here. Come away from all this,” Diana said, gently leading the girl away from the sight of the spilled bodies. She found a place for her to sit and led her there. “Stay here. Can you do that for me?”

The girl nodded. She was so pale. Diana rested a warm hand on the girl’s cheek before forcing herself to go and take care of the bodies that had fallen, to try and find some way to give them some dignity. She failed. There was no dignity to be found, not like this. When she returned to the girl, she offered some water and a piece of bread from her pack. The girl chewed the bread mechanically, likely not tasting a thing. Diana sat silently beside her for a few minutes, wanting to show her that tenderness still existed in this world, wanting to show her that there could be interactions that were not painful.

“The bodies -” the girl started, her voice hoarse.

Diana shook her head. “I will take care of them. I promise.”

“They were just...left...left there. I wanted to…”

“I know.” Diana placed her hand on the girl’s arm. “I will do what I can to...take care of them. All of them. Properly. You have my word.”

The girl looked at Diana then. Diana could see how pretty she must have been before the world stripped beauty from every corner of her life, before she had been robbed of love and life and gentleness. There was the ghost of light in the girl’s dark eyes, and Diana stood to carefully help her stand.

“We have doctors with us,” she told the girl. “I would like them to take a look at you.”

The girl nodded, silent again. Diana put an arm around her shoulders and led her to where most of the former prisoners had gathered. The sight made Diana’s stomach twist again. Women and girls weeping, out of disbelief or joy or maddening sorrow, out of grief for those who had nearly made it, nearly seen this day, but who hadn’t survived. Some of them had rotting spots on their bodies. Some were so starved it was obvious they weren’t going to live more than a few days, no matter what efforts were made. Some wouldn’t make it to sundown.

It was the stench, in the end, that tipped Diana over the edge. When she returned to the room she had been given back at headquarters, she caught the scent of the camp still lingering on her clothes and it overwhelmed every inch of her. She was crying, gagging, shaking before she could do anything about it. She got sick in her sink, something that had never happened to her before, and she spat hard before rinsing her mouth of the taste of her failure. She could have stopped it. All of it. Had she known what was happening, if she’d had any clue…

Sleep did not come to her that night, nor the next. The third night only brought nightmares that did not go away for a very long time.

***

The return to London was not as welcome, nor as much of a relief as Diana had hoped. It just felt like a place, like any other place, any nondescript place she could hang her hat. It was not home. She had no home, not anymore. Themyscira was long lost to her, and humanity had proven again that its depths ensured no one could find peace in any corner of the earth. Not for long, not entirely.

The good thing about London was that it included Etta and all the comfort that came with her. Seeing Etta had become more bittersweet these days, as the signs of aging were prominent now. Her hair had become streaked with white, and fine lines framed her eyes and mouth, displaying decades of smiles and laughter. Her energy had never waned even for a second, though, and she greeted Diana with the same bubbly charm as ever. The hug she gave was the most welcome, desperately needed thing Diana could imagine.

“It’s so good to see you,” Etta said, giving Diana’s cheek a little pat. “Come in, come in. You’ll forgive the mess, of course, but Clive got it into his head to redecorate the entire first floor, and you know that man. There’s no stopping him once he takes a notion. I do think he’s onto something with the blue paint, though, so I can’t find much reason to complain.”

“How is Clive?” Diana asked, navigating the stacks of odds and ends, as well as the tarp on the floor.

“Oh, he’s well, he’s very well. Hopefully he’ll be home before you leave. I know he’s been hoping to see you.”

“What is he working on these days?”

“You mean besides the total renovation of our happy home? Well, he has a new composition. It’s coming along quite nicely. He keeps tweaking this part or that, but I think he’s close. Ah, here we are,” said Etta as they finally reached the parlor, where tea had already been set out. “I told Clive I’d throttle him if he made a mess in here today, and bless him, he listened. Now, then, sandwiches.”

Diana loaded up her plate, so grateful for the feeling of a normal routine. Even though Etta had more than enough money to have hired help, she had never budged when it came to having a cook. The kitchen remained her domain, and over the years her skills had only improved, much to both her family and Diana’s delight. Diana had joined them for dinner many times over the years, and the dishes Etta churned out were nothing short of master chef quality. Today’s sandwiches and pastries were no exception, defining the term “comfort food”.

“How are the children?” Diana asked while they ate.

“Oh, busy as ever. Valerie has been hard at work at the conservatory and Imogen’s feeling much better now that the baby’s moved off her ribs a bit.”

Diana smiled at that. Etta’s older daughter had struggled quite a bit with the earlier stages of her pregnancy, so it was good to hear that she had found some relief. Etta hadn’t stopped bouncing with excitement at the notion of being a grandmother for the past six months.

“And how are you?” Etta asked, turning her bright smile on. “Caught up on things after your triumphant return?”

Diana started to respond, but she couldn’t quite find the words. She set down her plate and looked at her hands for a moment.

“Diana?” Etta’s smile had slipped.

“I…” Diana started, but she couldn’t finish, feeling her throat closing up and the food in her stomach suddenly uncomfortable.

Etta scooted closer and took Diana’s hand. “You saw them, didn’t you? The camps?” she said, though it wasn’t really a question at all.

Diana nodded, and all at once the experience hit her. Every emaciated body, every disgusting smell, every clawlike hand reaching for hers in desperation, every moment she had seen the depths of humanity’s cruelty, it all rushed at her like a tidal wave. Before she could comprehend it, Etta had wrapped her arms around her, and she was soaking Etta’s shoulder with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Diana sobbed as Etta held her, rocking her like a mother would her child. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush. These walls have seen plenty of tears, and they’re still standing, aren’t they? They can handle you,” Etta said with a little pat on Diana’s back. “You cry all you need.”

“I don’t know how...how anyone does it. How anyone can go on in this world. After the first war, I thought nothing could be worse.”

“We all did.”

“But this...the things I saw…”

“Do you know what I think?” Etta asked, and she pulled back to look Diana in the eye. “I think our Steve was right about something. That it isn’t about what we deserve, but what we believe. People are a right awful mess, when you get down to it. Ugly, hateful, shameful...not a one of us is good through and through. That’s why there are wars in the first place. But one thing I’ve learned? Wars end.”

“But there’s never really peace. Not everywhere, not for long...there’s never peace.”

“No. But there’s always the hope for it. The attempt. Humanity isn’t good, as a whole, but...it wants to be. And I think that counts for something, don’t you? If not for good intentions, there wouldn’t be any good at all. You and I both know that there _is_ good, when you look for it. I know what you saw over there, Diana. They sent footage. I won’t pretend that what I saw in those films is the same as seeing it all in person, but...I know what you saw. You’ve seen the very worst. The worst of us. But you also saw those who came in to help, to rescue. To heal. Those people do still exist, and they are the majority, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Diana pulled back and wiped her face, accepting the handkerchief Etta offered. She dabbed her eyes, doing her best to calm down as the sound of the front door opening traveled down the hall. Clive had returned home. In her infinite wisdom and instinct for discretion, Etta hurried up to greet him in the hallway and buy Diana a few more minutes to pull herself together. Diana checked her face in the mirror and hoped Clive wouldn’t notice she had been falling to pieces just before he came home.

“Diana? Shall we bring in some wine?” Etta called, clearly stalling just a bit more.

“Please,” Diana agreed, grateful for the extra bit of time.

By the time Etta bustled back in with glasses, followed closely by her eager, lanky husband bearing wine, Diana showed no sign whatsoever of having broken down only moments before. She beamed at Clive when he kissed her cheek as a hello.

“Clive. So good to see you,” she said, accepting the glass of wine Etta passed her.

“I had hoped you’d be by,” said Clive. “Though I had also hoped the renovations would be completed by the time you came back.”

“I hear you have a new composition. I’d love to hear it.”

“Would you? Would you really? Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to give you a listen, should the lady agree to hear it for the thousandth time,” said Clive, giving Etta a nod.

“Oh, I could suffer through such a hardship,” Etta teased.

Once Clive had his glass, he held it up. “Well. To good drink and better company, I think.”

They clinked glasses and drank. The wine tasted warm and buttery, the complex flavors sweet and familiar to Diana after her time without such luxuries. The comfort of the wine accompanied the comfort of being with family - which Diana had long since considered Etta, Clive, and their children - and she soon found herself filled with contentment. They all chatted and laughed, and Clive gave a private concert while Etta looked on adoringly.

Family.

Home.

Peace.

***

Back at her flat, Diana stood in her slip with a glass of water, stretching out her neck. She felt better, if not entirely well, after her visit with Etta and Clive. They had reminded her of the good things, of the things that made the world worth preserving. Love and family and friendship, laughter and light and good food, hugs and kisses and singing.

The world was not beautiful as a whole, but in bits and pieces, it could be nearly perfect.

She opened her closet and reached far, far into the back, until she found the hidden set of armor she was looking for. She had not put it on since the first war ended, since that battle with Ares that had nearly broken her, nearly turned her against all that she believed. After the war, she hadn’t felt comfortable wearing it. Not yet. She ran a hand over the smooth cold of it, remembering how it felt to wear it into battle. She had felt whole and determined then, so sure of herself. Now...well, now she had been shaken again and again. She wondered what her mother might think of her now.

She put the armor away, unable to bear it any longer, and lay down in bed. Sleep had long since gone from being a welcome respite to a dreaded necessity, but she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

In the moments before she slept, she had little snatches of visions.

A starved girl with beautiful eyes.

A handsome young pilot with beautiful eyes.

Shamed and cowardly prison camp guards, gathered in a clump and surrounded by those they had tortured.

Relieved and exhausted boys, shedding gas masks and hugging someone who had been their enemy only moments before.

A world that deserved nothing.

A world that she believed should be given a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I just kind of...soundly reject the idea that Diana didn't do any superheroing for a hundred years. I prefer to think she just didn't suit up in her iconic armor, reserving it for when she felt worthy again. 
> 
> I know I'm handwaving a lot in this chapter. I preferred to just explore the emotions and Diana's mindset rather than the ins and outs of how exactly she ended up liberating Ravensbrück and what her current career is in this decade. 
> 
> I also want to apologize for taking so long to update! I've been SO busy these past few weeks and I haven't had as much time to write, but hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to write. I'd hate to make y'all wait too long before we check back in with Steve! Thank you to everyone for reading and I look forward to your reactions to this chapter!


	5. Chapter Five: Steve, 1955

He felt the sun baking down on his neck, but he ignored it. Having a free Saturday was rare enough, let alone one that allowed him enough time to read a book. His coffee sat long since forgotten, shoes discarded under the patio chair after his morning walk, eyes squinting against the brightness of the page. The book had him so absorbed that he didn’t even hear his name being called. 

“Guy !”

When his name was called for the fourth time, he lifted his head, blinking to focus his eyes on the slightly exasperated woman standing by the door, practically buried in grocery bags. 

“Didn’t you hear - oh, you’re reading, so that answers that,” said Marianna with a little laugh. 

Guy set his book down and hurried over to take the bags from her. “Sorry.”

“No, no, no, I’m glad you were sitting still for once,” she said, kicking off her own shoes. 

“Jesus, what’d you buy, bricks?” Guy asked, starting to unload the bags and pulling out roughly a ton of pasta. “Oh, lots of pasta. Same net effect.”

“It occurs to me that you’ve never had arrabiata the way my mother made it, which I fully intend to remedy tonight.”

Marianna grinned at him and shook her hair out of its loose little updo. She looked so pretty in that light, sun streaming in and backlighting her maze of black curls, and Guy couldn’t help smiling back. 

“I’ve never had arrabiata at all, I don’t think,” he said. 

“You’ve been with an Italian woman for two years and never had it? Good God, my mother is rolling over in her grave.”

“I thought she was rolling because we’re living in sin.”

“So she’s rolling the other direction now. It’s good for balance. What’s the book?”

“Hmm?”

“The book that had you so absorbed when I came in.”

“Oh,” said Guy, glancing out at the patio where he had left his book. “Uh, it’s called  _ Native Son _ .”

“Do I know it?”

“Search me, I don’t know what you’ve read.”

Marianna raised an eyebrow at him. “Any reason for the tone?”

“No, no, sorry. It’s just a rough read.”

“What is it with you and making yourself miserable on your days off? First all those books about war, now this.”

Guy shrugged. He couldn’t really explain it, apart from having a fierce, deeply-felt desire to understand. Understand what drove men into war, what made people hate each other on sight, what caused the world to exist in such constant chaos. Maybe it was morbid, but he couldn’t help himself. His obsession with studying these dark sides of man’s nature came with the equally-obsessive hope that something would click, that he’d read some passage or learn some fact and suddenly it would all make sense. He would understand, and therefore be able to come up with a solution for it. Some way to make it all stop, some way to figure out how to bring peace to the world. 

He was fully aware that sounded ridiculous, and that’s why he had never said one word of it aloud.

“So. Arrabiata. What’s so special about it?” he asked, wanting to change the subject. 

Marianna’s eyes glinted, as they often did when she got a chance to talk about food. “There’s nothing to it, really. Most people would just look at it and think, oh, a red sauce, like every other ‘Eye-talian’ sauce there is. And I suppose that’s really what it is, but there’s just something...special about it. It tastes like home. You know how that is, how something can just taste like your childhood?”

He had no idea what that was like, but he nodded.

“What’s yours?” Marianna asked, already getting to work on setting out pots and pans. 

“My what?”

“Your taste that takes you back to childhood.”

Guy shrugged. “I don’t know. Chicken soup, maybe.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Chicken soup took him back to that little house, to the family that took him in when he collapsed naked and wasting away on their doorstep. It was the first thing he was able to eat once he came back around, after he was washed up and dressed. So while whatever childhood tastes he may have once known were long lost to him, at least he had an answer for Marianna this time that wasn’t completely fabricated. 

_ “You don’t talk about your past,” she had noted during one of their early dates. “I want to know more about you.” _

_ “Not much to tell,” he had stalled, refilling her wine glass.  _

_ “Come on, paint me a picture. Tell me what little baby Guy Evans was like.” _

_ He had shrugged and sipped his wine, hoping she would drop it. When she didn’t, he quickly invented something.  _

_ “Don’t really remember my folks. Don’t know where I’m from.” _

_ Marianna had tucked her wild hair back and cocked her head. “You didn’t know your family?” _

_ “Mm-mm. Orphanage. Left when I was eighteen.” _

_ “And then you joined the army?” _

_ He looked up at her then, surprised.  _

_ “A lucky guess,” she had said, idly swirling her wine and looking at him with softer eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of fellas who served. They all have that same look. Square shoulders, sad eyes.” _

_ He had cleared his throat and took advantage of her assumption. “Yeah. Yeah, served for a while. Don’t really like to talk about it.” _

_ Marianna had nodded then and reached out, taking his hand with both of her much smaller ones. “Let’s talk about something else, then.” _

_ In the hospital back in the ‘30s, the doctors had concluded that his amnesia was caused by a war wound. Since he couldn’t remember a thing about his life before the accident, but since his symptoms were also textbook trauma, the doctors had come up with a vague outline of what they assumed must have been the case: that he’d served in the Great War as a very young man, barely eighteen, and suffered severe shell shock after that. He couldn’t tell them he hadn’t aged a day since the end of the war, obviously, so he’d accepted their version of events and done his best to force himself to believe it. Two decades later, it had become his truth, and Marianna believed him when he said the nightmares were about the second war, the one in which he’d never actually served.  _

_ The truth had become a maze.  _

***

He woke up in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat, muscles taut as piano wire and shaking uncontrollably. His breath came in gasps, and it wasn’t until he felt Marianna’s hand on his face that he managed to realize where he was. 

“It’s okay. Hey. Look at me, Guy. It’s okay. It was just a dream,” Marianna was whispering, her voice husky from sleep. “You’re safe.”

He sat up, leaning on his elbow, looking around the room. “It...I was…”

“You were dreaming,” she said, a little more insistent. 

He covered his face and collapsed back against the pillows, humiliated. Deep in his mind, he knew it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and he’d never look down upon anyone else for having a nightmare, but for some reason, he never could manage to forgive himself for them. It seemed like a weakness, to have nightmares about something he couldn’t truly remember. He’d had them ever since that first sleep after he woke up burned alive, almost every night to some degree. Sometimes he’d jerk awake, shake his head, and roll back over, no harm done. Other nights were more like this one. 

“Will you tell me about it?” Marianna asked, curling up against him, rubbing his chest in a comforting sort of way. 

Guy shook his head. “It’s nothing new.”

“I wish I could help.”

“You are.”

“I mean  _ really  _ help.”

He shook his head again. “There’s nothing to be done. It’s just...how it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.”

“Mari.”

“I’m just saying, you could think about it.”

“I’m not seeing some quack who’s going to tell me to lie down on the couch and talk about my mother,” he said, put out by her bringing it up again.

“I know it’s new and it sounds a little frightening, but it could help. Why not just try it? What can it hurt?” 

“Plenty,” he said, snapping a bit, unpleasant memories of hospital rooms threatening to resurface. 

Marianna frowned and lifted up to look at him. “Guy, I’m worried about you. The war’s been over for years and you still dream about it like it was yesterday.”

“Some things don’t just leave once they’re over, all right? Some things...they stay.”

He turned his head away, staring out the window into the dark street. Marianna resumed her soft touches, and guilt flooded him. She was only trying to help. She didn’t deserve his anger or his inability to handle his past, and yet here she was. Here she was, gently soothing him even while he treated her so badly. He closed his eyes against the shame of it all, and a moment later felt her lips press against his cheek. 

“You’ve fought enough battles, that’s all,” Marianna whispered. “I just want to help you stop having to fight.”

He opened his eyes and turned to look at her, wondering how she could manage to be so good to him when he had done so little to deserve it. 

What followed had become familiar. Routine. Marianna’s usual feistiness in bed gave way to something sweeter, something slower. It was as much about sympathy as anything else, about giving Guy a distraction and something other than visions of whistling bombs and the echoes of  dying men to think of. And it worked quite well. It felt good to feel something warm and soft beneath his hands instead of the dream of a cold gun. To have something pretty to focus on instead of echoes of a war haunting him despite not being remembered. To have a few moments of his mind being utterly, blissfully blank, not flooded with the list of lies he had to keep in order just to get by. 

He breathed in the scent of her skin and hair, kissed her as she made quiet little sounds of pleasure, ran his hands along her outline. He squeezed at her waist, enjoying the feel of the plump give beneath his hands, the brush of heavy breasts against his knuckles as she moved. Marianna looked like every curvy pin-up he’d eyed over the last fifteen years or so, and she felt even better than he’d allowed himself to imagine a woman like that to feel. Maybe that was a little unsavory of him, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he had chased a fantasy when he’d pursued her, but he couldn’t help himself then, either. It had been a bad idea, getting so serious, and he’d always known it, but loneliness had a way of twisting bad ideas around and making them seem okay. 

He came with a rush of air and a snap of his hips, only a moment after she had come with a little whining sound high in her throat. It felt so good. It felt so good to forget everything, to just feel her winding down against him, curling up like a cat, so warm and just a little bit slick in some places. 

“I love you,” Marianna said softly as she drifted off to sleep, her head resting over his heart. 

Guy kissed her head, but kept quiet. 

***

The next time the nightmares returned, Guy crossed a line.

He didn’t mean to. He’d never have done what he did, not if he’d been in his right mind. 

It was just that he didn’t realize what was happening. He didn’t process it before he reacted. 

He didn’t understand the dream, not completely. He remembered the panic, the feeling of searing skin, a blinding light. The next thing he knew, there was a grip on his arm, and he reacted instinctively. It was combat instinct. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop it. His fist flew out before he knew what was happening, connected with the nearest body, gave him the time to roll off of the bed and get in a defensive position. But something wasn’t right. No one was charging him, no bullets were flying. It was wood beneath his bare feet, not mud beneath boots, and the only sound was that of a woman crying. 

_ Oh, God.  _

“Mari,” he said once he realized what had happened, and he all but dove to her side. “Hey. Hey, let me see.”

Marianna shook her head and turned away, curled up on the floor. Guy felt his hands shake. 

“Marianna. Please. I need to see.”

“I’m fine,” said Marianna, not sounding like herself at all. 

“Let me see,” he insisted, and she finally looked at him.

He’d got her good. Her cheek was already bright red. Thank God he’d missed her mouth, nose, and eyes, but he could tell she’d be sore for days, anytime she ate or talked. He felt sick to his stomach. 

“Stay there,” he said, hurrying to the freezer to get something, anything to soothe her. “Just...don’t move, okay?”

“Guy,” she called weakly, but he didn’t listen. 

He returned with frozen chicken wrapped in a towel and a significant pour of red wine, hoping the combination would do the trick. Marianna accepted the wine but didn’t drink, accepted his careful application of the makeshift ice pack but didn’t look at him. 

“Mari, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he said after a while, still shaky. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was you.”

“I know that.”

“I would never hit you. Never hurt you. Not on purpose.”

“I know that too.”

They didn’t say anything else the rest of the night. 

***

He moved out a few weeks later. She had cried a lot. He got choked up a couple of times. 

He rented a room closer to work, a nice little boarding house run by a woman who liked to pat his cheek when he passed her on the porch. 

Alone again.

He missed Marianna. Maybe he really had loved her. He wasn’t sure. He loved her in the sense that he truly cared, truly hoped she’d be all right, in the sense that he didn’t like not being with her. But he could never have loved her altogether. Not in the way she deserved. 

It would always have ended like this, one way or another, sooner or later. He’d never have been able to tell her the truth. He didn’t really even know what the truth was, not entirely. And he never would. He had accepted that. Taught himself to accept that. Back when he’d changed his name yet again, back when he’d managed to get released from the hospital, back when he’d learned to quiet the constant desire to make everything stop somehow. He’d told himself over and over that the reality of who he was, what he was, would always be a secret, and he had to accept that. And he had. 

Sure. He had. 

He sent Marianna a postcard after a while, just to check in with her and let her know he was all right. 

He got a Christmas card from her. 

That was it.

It was fine.


	6. Chapter Six: Diana, 1963

Diana made her way to London less often in those days. Her new home in Manhattan suited her better, her lovely apartment with its views of steel and glass much more pleasant than the chill and gray of London. England would always hold a special place in her heart for many reasons, but the events of recent years had made each return sting more than the last.

The weather was unseasonably pleasant for this visit, which was a relief. Diana had been able to leave her umbrella and coat in the hotel, and the sun made its best efforts to peek through the thick blanket of bright white cloud every so often. It felt quite a bit more freeing than her last time here, when the promise of snow had turned into a nightmare of ice, causing slick roads and more than a few fallen branches on the sidewalk.

She reached her destination and made her way through the maze of headstones, many of which had been freshly tidied and decorated with wreaths and bouquets, clearly thanks to loved ones taking advantage of the weather’s turn. The sun managed to shine down for a few minutes, making the place look almost cheerful, which comforted Diana a bit as she joined her old friend by one of the most meticulously-maintained graves.

Clive bent to kiss Diana’s cheek. He didn’t have to lean down quite as far these days, as age and grief had caused just the slightest slump in his posture.

“It’s good to see you, Diana,” he said, grasping her hand and giving her a little smile. “You look well.”

“So do you. I see you’re wearing her favorite suit,” Diana observed.

“The lady always did know her fashion, didn’t she?”

“She certainly did. She knew just about everything worth knowing.”

Clive chuckled a little and turned his attention to Etta’s grave. He had laid a beautiful wreath on it, full of Etta’s favorite flowers. The friends stood quietly for a moment, both desperately missing her.

“How are you?” Diana asked after a little while, looking at Clive.

“Rather English about it all, I’m afraid,” he quipped. “Stiff upper lip and all that.”

“You don’t have to do that with me.”

“Oh, I know. Old habits. To tell you the truth, it’s ghastly. There are days when I want to go roaring down the street, knocking things over and kicking down signs. And there are plenty more days when I don’t want to do anything at all, just want to sit in my chair and wait to join her.”

Diana’s throat tightened and she put her arm around Clive’s narrow shoulders.

“The thing is...” Clive went on. “I think if I joined her one second before I was supposed to, she’d turn me right around and send me back with a kick. ‘Clive Harrington, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m going to pour you tea and set you a place at this table, now get back to it’, don’t you think?”

Diana laughed a bit at his impression of Etta, so perfectly matched to her quick, quippy tone. “That’s exactly what she would say.”

“Besides, there’s the girls. And the grandchildren. I’ve got to stay as long as I can for them.”

“How are they?”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful. It’s hard on them, still, of course. But the girls have their mother’s spirit, thank God. And the grandchildren...well, they’re young. Resilient. They’re all doing quite well, all things considered.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I appreciated the photos you sent. Freddie’s grown a foot since the last time I saw him.”

“Oh, he certainly has. Smart as a whip, that one. And Evie, well, no one can keep rein on her. Imogen runs herself ragged keeping up, but I know she’s proud. You should see the things Evie comes up with. This week she wants to be a film star.”

“She would be very good.”

“She would. We’ll see if next week she doesn’t want to be Prime Minister and the week after that if she doesn’t want to be a doctor.”

Diana smiled, remembering the last time she saw Evie, who had turned out to be the spitting image of Etta, right down to the little dimples in her cheeks and her bubbly nature.

“And how are you?” Clive asked, looking at Diana with concern.

“I’m getting by.”

“And your ladyfriend?”

“She’s...she’s well.”

Clive cocked his head a bit. “Something wrong?”

“Well...you know all she’s been through. She still has some...some hard days.”

“Oh, dear. I do hope things look up for her soon.”

“So do I.”

They fell quiet again for a while, and Diana closed her eyes as a gentle breeze cooled her face. When she opened them, she saw that Clive stood with his hands clasped and head bowed, silently offering up a prayer for his beloved late wife. Diana stood very still so as not to disturb him, and a moment later, Clive stepped forward and kissed his fingertips, then pressed them to the pristine headstone, right where Etta’s name was chiseled.

“I’ll see you later, my darling,” he said softly, resting his hand on the chilled stone for a moment. “Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure everyone gets a kiss from you.”

Clive stepped back to give Diana a moment. She took her turn to step forward and gently touch the headstone, feeling the familiar tightening in her throat at the thought of saying goodbye again.

_Etta sat up in her bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets and a stack of books. She had primped a bit for the occasion, done her best to look as well as she could, but there was no hiding the shock of seeing her so thin and pale. Nevertheless, she had given Diana a wide, genuine grin and extended her hands to her. Diana clasped them gently, giving each a kiss before sitting on the bed._

_“Oh, Diana, it’s so good to see you,” Etta had said, and Diana was relieved to hear that her voice wasn’t quite as shaky as it had been on the phone. “I hope the journey wasn’t too hard.”_

_“Not at all,” Diana had assured her. “You’re looking well.”_

_“All things considered,” Etta said with a little chuckle. “Valerie has been by every day, making sure I’m all settled, giving Clive a little break. The man would hover day and night and feed me with an eyedropper if I let him, bless him. Val makes sure he gets outside for a bit, makes sure he has some time in front of the piano.”_

_“That’s good. How are you feeling?”_

_Etta had quieted a bit then, but she kept smiling, though a little sadly. “As well as can be expected. I’ve been fortunate to be so cared for.”_

_“What can I do?” Diana had asked, searching her friend’s face desperately for answers._

_Etta had patted Diana’s hand and given it a squeeze. “Just seeing my oldest friend does me a world of good. The best you can do is sit here with me and tell me about your adventures.”_

_So Diana had done just that. They sat together that whole day, then the next, then several more days after that, just visiting and catching up, reminiscing about old times, reading together and laughing over old jokes. A few times, Etta had felt well enough to sit in the garden for tea, and Clive would play for her every night as she drifted off to sleep._

_Diana was there for Etta’s last night, and her already-cracked heart broke into fragments._

Diana turned back to Clive after her silent farewell and accepted the arm he offered as they walked out together. Neither spoke until they reached the street, where they decided to stop in a pub for a bite to eat. It felt blessedly normal, sitting with a friend in a familiar old place, talking about pleasant topics and looking at the pictures he carried in his wallet.

“Are you certain I can’t put you up for the night?” Clive offered as he paid the bill.

“It’s generous of you, but I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company.”

“Is your hotel far?”

“Not very.”

“I’ll walk you,” said Clive, again offering his arm, ever the gentleman.

They walked together to Diana’s hotel, and Diana gave Clive a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“You’ll call, won’t you?” Clive asked, hand on her arm.

“Of course I will. As soon as I’m able,” Diana promised. “Clive...be good to yourself, all right?”

Clive smiled. “Follow your advice as well.”

Diana nodded, gave him one last hug, and watched as he walked away.

***

The early 1960s in Manhattan were an interesting time. The gloss and glamour of it all disguised an uglier side of things. Disguised oppression, disguised the sickeningly backwards attitudes that Diana had found herself fighting since her arrival in man’s world. The rumble of change grew ever louder, ever more electric, even as so many tried to cling to the old ways. The world was on a precipice with no idea what they would find once they fell over the edge. Diana had come for work, translating documents for a professor of ancient history. Halina had come because she had to.

_They had met by chance, when Diana had stopped to help her with a broken bicycle. Halina had been trying to push the stubborn thing along the sidewalk and balance her bags at the same time. Diana offered to help and easily lifted the bike, carrying it and freeing Halina to carry her things. When they reached Halina’s apartment building, Diana helped her lock up the bike for safekeeping._

_“Let me drop off my things and take you to dinner,” Halina had offered. “As a thank you.”_

_“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Diana had said with a little laugh. “I’m happy to help.”_

_“You carried my bicycle all this way. Let me at least buy you dinner. My name is Halina,” she said, holding out her hand._

_Diana shook her hand and smiled. “I’m Diana.”_

_“What a pretty name.”_

_“Likewise.”_

_Halina. It was a pretty name for a pretty woman. She was beautiful. She wore no makeup except lipstick, as her skin needed nothing to enhance it and her eyelashes were long and dense as a forest. Diana had followed Halina up the narrow stairs to her little apartment and waited while she set down her bags - full of art supplies, as it turned out - and changed into something that wasn’t covered in paint. Once ready, Halina led the way to a little restaurant nearby, where they made their way through a bottle of wine and generous servings of pasta. They made polite small talk, and Halina proved to be easy, enjoyable company._

_Midway through the meal, Halina had knocked the wind out of Diana._

_“I recognize you, you know,” Halina had said, lighting a cigarette and looking at Diana through her thick eyelashes._

_“Do you? We’ve met?”_

_“Ravensbr_ _üc_ _k. 1945.”_

_Halina looked Diana right in the eye as Diana froze, completely thrown by this. She couldn’t even stammer out a statement of disbelief or denial. Halina’s eyes. She remembered the young girl, pinned by dead bodies, the girl with beautiful eyes. She remembered Halina._

_Halina smoked, her calmness impressive as she went on._

_“I wasn’t certain at first, but...now I am. You were there. You gave me a green blanket. I don’t know how you could have been there, or how you’re here now, but...am I wrong?”_

_Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment after that. Diana looked down into her wine, seeing her faint reflection in it, seeing the depth of her failure. When she could finally look back up at Halina, it took everything she had to meet those bright eyes. But she met them, because she owed it to Halina. She owed that and so much more._

_“Thank you,” Halina said, before Diana could start in on her apologies._

_Diana shook her head. “I cannot accept that.”_

_“You can’t accept my thanks?”_

_“I should have been there sooner. Been there before it began.”_

_“Because you could have predicted it?”_

_“I...no, but-”_

_“Because you’re magical? You could have stopped it?”_

_“I’m not magical.”_

_“You’re close enough. But you still couldn’t have stopped it. Not alone. All that...it was the might of man united and emboldened in the worst possible way. And when that happens, it takes a force as great as God to stop it. I should know. I was there in the heart of it,” said Halina, taking a long drag and a longer drink. “But you helped. So I’m grateful.”_

_“It was too little. Too late.”_

_“Oh, stop whining.”_

_“Whining?” Diana repeated, not expecting that._

_“I don’t suppose you know the Talmud? ‘Whoever saves one life, it is considered as if they saved an entire world’. It wasn’t too little or too late if there was even one person left. You saved a lot of worlds, Diana.”_

_Diana had sat still, humbled, and Halina had reached out and gently rested her hand on Diana’s arm._

_“Thank you,” Halina said again, a gentleness in her tone and in those beautiful eyes._

_Diana couldn’t respond, but instead placed her hand on top of Halina’s._

_“I’ve never been so glad to have a broken bicycle,” Halina went on, and a little smile had played at her lips._

_Diana laughed then, the lightness filling her heart so suddenly it was almost dizzying, and Halina had broken into a laugh as well._

_“I think we’re going to need more wine.”_

The course to becoming lovers had been as natural as breathing. Halina found Diana to be exciting, delighting in Diana’s outspoken ways and her absolute refusal to be untrue to her beliefs. Diana saw Halina’s kind heart and gentle nature underneath a wicked sense of humor. Halina’s wit could be razor-sharp and even biting, but her intentions were always good and true. She got to the point when she spoke, having learned in the most painful way that one does not always have the opportunity to clarify a thought or express an idea before the chance is lost forever. Diana understood that only too well herself.

Halina kept odd hours, as an artist with no particular work hours. She would wake in the middle of the night and paint by the window, lit by the streetlights outside. Diana watched her sometimes, watched the way her face became almost dreamy and how her body moved like a stream, working the brush over the canvas in delicate, precise strokes. She would stop only to stretch and have a drink.

When Diana returned from London in the late afternoon, Halina had been asleep, stretched diagonally across the bed on her stomach. She wore only her underwear and one of Diana’s shirts, the sleeves rolled up and the whole thing splattered with blue paint in varying shades. Diana couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and she kicked off her shoes so she could curl up on the bed too. Halina stirred a little, but didn’t wake, instead just turning unconsciously into Diana’s body, her arm slung out, the ragged tattoo from the camp just visible beneath her sleeve.

_The first time Diana saw the tattoo on Halina’s arm, her heart had stopped. Halina was staring at her with those dark, dark eyes, still as a stone, waiting for something. Waiting, most likely, for Diana to be repulsed or upset and pull away. Instead, Diana had gently brushed over the small gray numbers with her fingertips, a touch like a breeze, and brought that same hand up to Halina’s face, guiding her in for a kiss._

Sometimes, Halina would come home looking tired and disconnected, responding to Diana with just one or two words at a time. Her eyes would be elsewhere, looking but not seeing. Sometimes, she would wake in the middle of the night and shake while Diana held her, reminding her that she was safe. Too often, Diana would walk in to find Halina halfway through a bottle of something. Even now, as Diana started gently rubbing Halina’s back, brushing the honey-brown waves back from her neck, she could see there was a wine stain on the collar of the shirt.

Though she constantly tried to help her control it, Diana never could blame Halina for the drinking. Not after what she had seen in the camps. When Halina should have been a vivacious teenager enjoying school and first romances and friends, she was starving and lost in a hellish prison. Every good day of her life up to those years had been covered in mud and stench, and every happy moment since dulled and tainted by death.

Liberation was only for the body.

Halina slowly woke, blinking in the golden light. “Diana.”

“I’m home,” Diana said, smiling at her.

“Mm,” Halina yawned, and she curled up into Diana’s arms. “How was your visit?”

“It was very nice. I wish you could have come.”

“Next time.”

“I missed you.”

“Well,” Halina said with a little smile. “Here I am.”

Diana kissed her, relishing the feel of sleepy warmth beneath her. She let Halina turn them over, let her put her legs on either side of Diana’s waist, let her pull back and unbutton the borrowed shirt and drop it off of the bed. The little surge of desire heated Diana from the inside out, and she couldn’t wait any longer to kiss Halina again. She needed this, needed this kind of loving contact after her melancholy visit to London. Halina must have sensed something was off, because she pulled back just the slightest bit to look at Diana.

“Here I am,” she said again. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

It was the thing Diana needed to hear.

***

Their lives were steady for a good while after that. Halina had been given a generous commission and worked round the clock, painting at even odder times than usual, and Diana noticed that she hadn’t been drinking as much, perhaps due to being distracted and excited by the job. Diana read to her while she painted, steered her by the shoulders away from the easel for meals, massaged her aching arms and hands in bed. Halina joked and sang while Diana made notes in old books and effortlessly translated lost languages.

“You’re going too fast,” Halina advised one evening. “You’re not supposed to be _that_ fluent. Don’t give yourself away.”

Diana laughed and scratched through a few of her notes. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s just beautiful. I got caught up.”

“What is it?”

“Notes about Sappho. It’s the notes that I’m supposed to be working on, but the poetry itself is too...distracting.”

“Ah, Sappho. Friend of yours?”

Diana gave Halina a withering look. Ever since the night she had told Halina her whole story, she had been subjected to a litany of jokes about it all.

“Sorry. Go on,” Halina urged, stopping to crack her knuckles and roll her shoulders.

“Sappho’s work was mostly lost in Alexandria, but the remaining fragments are so...listen to this: ‘For by my side you put on/many wreaths of roses/and garlands of flowers/around your soft neck/And with precious and royal perfume/you anointed yourself/On soft beds you satisfied your passion/And there was no dance/no holy place/from which we were absent’. Isn’t that lovely?”

“It is a nice image. Maybe I’ll make you some garlands to wear before we satisfy your passion.”

Diana grinned. “I would wear them.”

“Don’t tempt me,” said Halina, turning back to the canvas and fixing a spot. “Isn’t Sappho the one who said something like…like ‘Death is evil, that’s what the gods think or else they would die themselves’, something along those lines?”

“You’re close. Yes, that was her.”

“Quite an interesting perspective.”

“It is.”

“We’re never taught the idea that death might not be anything but a tragedy to avoid at all costs. Sure, there’s the notion of an afterlife, but…” Halina shrugged. “I’m Jewish, that’s not really where we put our energies. And anyway, I always thought the afterlife seemed like a bribe. Like promising a child candy if they behave.”

“Or punishment if they don’t.”

“Exactly. But maybe there is something. Something that means death is worth all the trouble. Something that means life is worth all the trouble.”

Something in Halina’s voice had flattened, and it made Diana stop writing. Halina stood for a moment, her paintbrush hovering, and she cleared her throat, snapping herself out of whatever had just begun to wash over her.

“I should stop. I’m going cross-eyed,” Halina mumbled, and she started to clean up. “I’ll go out and get us something to eat.”

“I can go,” Diana offered, but Halina shook her head. “Halina, I don’t mind.”

“I could use the air,” Halina said, already shoving her feet into her shoes. “I’ll be back.”

Halina left before Diana could protest.

***

Along with dinner, Halina bought a couple of bottles of wine. She had also bought a bottle of vodka, which was not her usual practice, and Diana eyed it warily.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked when Halina poured herself a glass.

“I just wanted a taste of home,” Halina said with a shrug, and Diana dropped it.

Late that night - early that morning, really - Diana woke to find Halina sitting at the table, still working through the vodka. She had consumed a significant amount of it, in addition to the wine she had with dinner, and the look on her face was only too familiar. Diana recognized it from every other time Halina had expressed a desire to give up on everything.

She went to Halina and rested her hands on her shoulders, which Halina didn’t even seem to notice as she kept drinking.

“Halina. Come to bed,” Diana whispered.

“I’m fine.”

Diana sat beside her. “You look exhausted. Come lie down with me, love.”

Halina just shook her head, not looking at Diana. When Halina avoided eye contact, that’s when Diana knew the wave of despair was especially bad. They came out of nowhere sometimes and would nearly knock her down, and it was all Diana could do to keep Halina on her feet.

“You survived the worst, Halina. You survived the unthinkable. You can survive now,” Diana said gently, moving the bottle a few inches away.

Halina stopped her, placing a hand over Diana’s. “But what if I’m not sure I want to?”

***

There were long days of sorrow, days when Halina barely moved except to pour a glass of something, barely spoke except to insist she was fine, to snap that she wanted to be left alone. Those days made Diana ache with helplessness, watching the woman she loved so much being dragged down by the evils of the world of men. Sometimes Diana wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up, to look around and see the life all around her, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. It had been bad before, at times, but never quite like this. Something had broken in Halina, she could tell.

Diana knew all too well what Halina had suffered in the war. She had seen it, eventually, done what little she could, far too late. The Great War had taught her of man’s capacity for evil. The camps had taught her that she had underestimated them.

_“You can do nothing, or you can do something.”_

The words had echoed in her ears all throughout that second, somehow worse war, and she had found herself whispering them to herself when she thought she could not continue. The war had taken so many lives, ruined even more, and something inside her had broken when she laid eyes on the camps. It was that same something that had fractured in Veld, upon seeing the blistered bodies of the villagers, destroyed by mustard gas. She had felt shattered when she entered the camps, splintered. But she fought it back, for the sake of the survivors.

Well, a survivor lay right beside her at that moment, and Diana was determined to love her as she deserved to be loved. She was determined to do something.

She woke Halina up with a kiss to the cheek, and she wrapped her arms around her slight frame, protective and warm. Halina did not resist, but she did not respond either. Diana didn’t mind.

“I’ll never understand. Not really. I do know that,” Diana murmured, running a hand gently along Halina’s arm. “But I will always be here. I will give you love, if you will let me. I will love you, because you were made to be loved.”

Halina said nothing, but for the first time in a long time, she curled closer to Diana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really intend for this chapter to be so long - or so sad - but whaddya know, here we are. I wanted to bring back Clive, since I felt his appearance was a little too brief after the positive response he got, and I found myself wanting to explore MUCH more of Halina and Diana's relationship than originally intended. I had first planned for this chapter to mirror the last one a lot more, but I realized that Diana would never approach a relationship the same way Steve-With-Amnesia would. She's able to be herself with the people she trusts most because she actually knows who she is, whereas Steve doesn't have that luxury. 
> 
> And it may seem very coincidental that Diana would just happen to run into the girl she had helped to liberate years ago, but it was actually a very, very subtle nod to Elie Wiesel's "Night", which is how I justified it to myself. 
> 
> I'm so sorry about Etta. It frickin' killed me writing all that.


	7. Chapter Seven: Steve, 1976

Stillness. 

It was the thing he had been missing for so long. 

He had forsaken his last identity in favor of being Tom Billings, and forsaken southern California for the quieter, greener north. Forsaken decades of cities full of traffic to seek the breeze and grapes and rolling countryside. 

He had spent so long, every decade in his memory, existing in some measure of latent panic. “What if” entered his mind roughly every five minutes, tormenting him with thoughts of being found out, or - far worse - being thought of as crazy. Again. Winding up back in a hospital. Again. 

It wasn’t that he regretted his time there. He didn’t. It had been long, hard, miserable, lonely, painful, cold, sad, and there had been times when he had felt so choked by grief and despair he thought he’d break in two. The treatments had been difficult and, now that great advancements had been made, he could compare and see how rudimentary, sometimes dangerously so, they had been. But still, being there had pulled him out of one of his darkest times, and he had not quite ever returned to it. He had accepted that, perhaps, truly being happy was not something within his reach. But contentment was a worthy goal, and one he sought when he packed up and fled to the country. 

This morning, he stood on his little porch, barefoot and shirtless, with strong coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He had intended to sit down and read, but the sunrise beckoned him to the rail of the tiny porch instead, invited him to lean against it and just look out at the world. 

The house he rented was a small place, more like a cabin than anything else. It had one bedroom and a cozy living area, but he didn’t need much beyond that. He had never needed much. It struck him one day as he was cleaning the kitchen that the house wasn’t really much bigger than the apartment he’d rented when he’d first come over from Europe after his miraculous recovery from his burns, yet it felt palatial by comparison. There were windows on all sides, fresh air to breathe, and quiet that had taken him several weeks to really adjust to, but that had become as welcome as daybreak.

He wondered if he had been a country boy before, if he’d had a childhood running around in fields. The question of whether he’d actually had any sort of childhood at all had never been answered. For all he knew, for all he could recall, he may not have existed at all until the moment he woke up charred and choking. Logic and his gut told him he must have had  _ something  _ before that, though, and he’d invented several childhoods over the years to suit whatever cover he’d come up with. Perhaps, if he allowed himself, he could dream up an idyllic childhood full of happy memories of farm animals and fresh vegetables, of digging into the earth with a proud father, of being cleaned with a mother’s apron at the kitchen door, and perhaps, if he allowed himself, he could let it shape him just as a real childhood would have. 

_ “Turning over a new leaf,” he had muttered to himself when he paid the rent advancement to his landlord and looked around the property.  _

For almost sixty years, each of his invented identities had been kept as sparse and simple as possible. He’d learned ways to keep people from asking too many questions, and the easiest was to invoke both their sympathies and their discomfort. A tragic childhood in which he never knew his parents and grew up in a cold, spartan orphanage usually did the trick just fine. When he came to this charming little town, however, it didn’t feel right. He still kept details scarce, but hinted at a happier upbringing when people asked. It wasn’t real, as far as he knew, anyway, but maybe if he kept connecting a dot here and there, it would feel real. Maybe that would be enough someday. 

For now, though, it was enough to just look out at the lush land before him, to note how the golden sun turned the world into a kaleidoscope of amber and emerald, to breathe in the first warmth of the day, to have good food in his pantry and good coffee in his cup. 

He sat down and propped up his feet on the other chair, opening his book and picking up where he had left off the night before. In recent months, he had abandoned his usual dry, scholarly texts and serious nonfiction in his continued attempt to introduce levity to his life, and he found it had made quite a difference. Though he was unashamed to admit that he had sobbed like a child when Beth died in  _ Little Women _ , it had still been an overall much happier read than what he’d consumed over the last few decades. His current mission of making his way through Jane Austen’s canon had proved a similar experience. These books didn’t shy away from sentiment or try to cover it over with masculine posturing, and it was refreshing.

_ And here men are, still not wanting to read this stuff because it's "girly", _  he thought, shaking his head a little as he lost himself in the world of Austen’s creation. 

He wasn’t too sure how long he’d been reading, but the last dregs of coffee had gone cold by the time he found a stopping point, and just in time, too. His landlord’s daughter, Carla, had just arrived, walking up the path with a bright smile. In previous incarnations of himself, he might have been embarrassed by having been caught semi-undressed, but somehow here it didn’t seem to matter so much, and he waved.

“Good morning, Tom,” Carla called. 

“Morning,” he greeted back. “You’re out early.”

“I like to keep folks on their toes.”

“Probably a good quality in a landlord. Come on in, I’ll get you the rent check. Want some coffee?”

“Please.”

Carla followed him into the little house and smiled as she looked around at it, noting the little changes he had made since her last visit. Tom put the coffee on and wrote a check out to Carla’s father while waiting for it to brew, and she put it in the pocket of the men’s shirt she wore over her skirt. She did that kind of thing often, mixing fashions, which Tom had found interesting from the first time they met. That day, she had been wearing a pair of rolled-up men’s trousers and a pink blouse with a knot tied in the bottom, with heavy boots and a white ribbon holding back her long hair. It was impossible not to notice her. 

Tom passed her a cup of coffee with two sugars. “Busy day ahead?”

“Just the store. Marco got it into his head to rearrange half the shelves. You should come by, though. We got the most beautiful tomatoes you’ve ever seen.”

“Is that so?”

“And all sorts of other things. I’ll make you up a bag and you can come pick it up later.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

Carla smiled at him and sipped her coffee. “You’ve decorated some more.”

“I took your advice on the curtains.”

“So I see. Good choice.”

“Maybe I’ve got a future in interior design."

“Not while you still insist on that side table over there,” said Carla teasingly. 

“Hey, I like that table.”

“No one else would, so it’s a good thing it found a home with you.”

Tom laughed heartily at that. “All right, all right, so I’m still very much a bachelor when it comes to my decorating sense.”

“At least for the time being, yeah?”

“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to try and set me up with someone.”

“Why not? I’m very good at it.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I’m just...not interested in that. At the moment.”

Carla tilted her head at him a bit. “Bad split?”

“No. Well...yeah. But it was a while back. Right now I’m still trying to do that whole self-discovery thing, you know?” he said with a laugh, swirling his coffee around in his mug. “Take some more time to myself before I get into anything.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“One of the healthier things I’ve done in a while, I think.”

“Well, good for you, then. But if you change your mind, I know a  _ very  _ pretty writer and you are definitely her type.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” said Tom, laughing again. “Hey, how’s your dad doing?”

“He’s better. Cast comes off in a few days, but he probably won’t be back to normal for a good while. He’s about to start climbing the walls.”

“Can’t say I blame him. I broke a leg myself once. Miserable. Hey, if he needs any help with anything, maintenance stuff or whatever, tell him to give me a call. I’m pretty handy.”

“I’ll let him know. That’s nice of you, thank you.”

“Well, he’s been good to me. I appreciate it.”

Carla handed back her empty mug, and Tom put it in the sink. 

“I’ll let you get back to your morning,” said Carla, giving his arm a pat. “Good to see you.”

“You too. I’ll be by later for those groceries.”

Carla gave him a wave as she left, and Tom felt a glow in his chest. It had been a while since he’d had a friend, and Carla had quickly become that for him. She had been endlessly friendly when he’d first moved in, helping him get acquainted with the town and making recommendations for nearby day trips. Her husband Marco had been thrilled to learn that Tom spoke Italian and promptly began tugging him all over their small, crowded grocery store, shoving bottles of wine into Tom’s arms and speaking rapidly in his mother tongue about things like bouquets and tannins. The man was determined to make a sommelier out of Tom. The whole family was made up of good, honest people, and it felt nice to feel so easily accepted. Tom’s guilt over having to lie about his identity only stung a bit at first, and then it passed.

He passed his day lazily. One upside to his apparent immortality was that he had built up a generous savings once he’d found steady employment. This had allowed him to move to the countryside with no immediate work plans, no job opportunities lined up, and still take a decent amount of time to just rest and figure himself out. That rest had proved immeasurably healthy. In that time, he had begun keeping a journal, engaging in hobbies like hiking and yoga, visited wineries all over the area to further his education - much to Marco’s delight - and read even more voraciously than usual. He even took a painting class once a week. He once might have laughed at himself for this, would certainly have disapproved of such a long stretch of unproductive behavior, but he had come to realize this kind of care had been long overdue. Everything else could wait. 

The morning turned into afternoon, the last pages of his book turned as the sun hung lower in the sky, and he closed his eyes. Birds sang, breezes blew, and somewhere in the distance, there were wind chimes. 

More than anything else, there was stillness. 

Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, my deepest apologies for how long it has been since I updated and for how short this is. 
> 
> This chapter REALLY threw me for a loop I wasn't expecting, and I wrote and rewrote it about a dozen times. It went in a LOT of different directions before I settled on this: Steve learning how to chill. Not much in the way of plot, I know, but I felt like this was important. He has been through so much for so long that he needed - and deserved - some self-care and self-discovery. He lost everything when he woke up after the explosion, and he has been seeking what he lost ever since. It's something we all do, I think, after an upheaval. If we move, we seek out places that feel familiar. If we lose a loved one, we try to be around people to remind us of them. When we're lost, our natural instinct is to try and be found. 
> 
> With each name change, each location change, each new attempt at figuring himself out, Steve is getting a little closer to Diana, as well as his own past. He still has a long path ahead of him, but he's slowly getting healthier and finding some peace on his own, which is the necessary first step. He may still not know who he really is, but he's getting to know his soul, which is something he has avoided for a long time in this universe. He's taking on healthy coping mechanisms and taking time for himself, which we all need to do. He's finding himself, and because of this, he is less lost than ever. 
> 
> All this to say: yes, Steve and Diana will find each other again. Eventually.


	8. Chapter 8: Diana, 1982

The sound of a knock at the door startled Diana awake. When had she fallen asleep? The TV was still on, quietly playing a news broadcast, and Diana’s half-eaten dinner sat on the coffee table before her. She rubbed her face and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. The knock sounded again and she groaned a bit, forcing herself up. It was probably someone from work, who would jabber on about a big scoop and drag her out to get the story. Diana took a breath to prepare herself and opened the door. 

What she saw on the other side was the most welcome sight she could have hoped for. 

“Chief,” she breathed, affection heavy in the word. 

Chief smiled at her and opened his arms. Diana stepped in and hugged him tightly without a second’s hesitation. He felt as warm as ever, forever as gentle as can be, the faint scent of smoke and leaves clinging to his clothes, even in the city. Diana stepped back to let him enter. 

“You look well,” she said. “How long has it been?”

“Five years, at least,” said Chief, looking around. “Nice place.”

“Thank you. I like it here. Tea?”

“Please.”

Diana smiled and set about making tea. Though it had indeed been years since the last time they saw each other, every visit with Chief felt comfortable and familiar. Time could pass endlessly between their interactions and they would still pick up right where they left off. One of the benefits of friendship between immortal beings was that time meant very little, in the grand scheme of things. 

Chief kept looking around, peering at this item or that photograph, until Diana returned with tea on a tray and they sat down together. 

“Sorry to drop in so late,” said Chief, holding the mug in his hands and breathing in the scent of the tea. 

“No, please. I’m always happy to see you. What brings you by?”

“Besides needing to see an old friend?” Chief smiled a bit, then the smile turned into something sadder, the little wrinkles by his eyes smoothing. 

“Chief. What is it?”

Chief sipped his tea, then set his mug down and turned toward her. “Halina Anielewicz.”

Diana’s stomach dropped at the mention of her former love’s name. It couldn’t possibly be good news. Chief didn’t continue, and Diana looked down at her tea for a moment. 

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Diana said softly, more of a statement than a question. 

Chief nodded, offering nothing else again. He never volunteered explanations about how he got his information, and Diana never asked. Even though it wasn’t a surprise, Diana’s heart still ached.

“When?” she asked.

“Three years ago.”

“I last saw her in ‘7 5\. I lost track of her after that. I tried, but…”

Chief nodded again, understanding. “She wasn’t alone. If that helps.”

“What happened?”

“Drink. Drugs. Her body just couldn’t hold out.”

“You said she had someone there?”

“A nurse. Very kind.”

Diana looked down at her tea again, a bitter taste in her throat. Those last few months with Halina had been excruciating. Halina’s spiral downward had been an unstoppable force, consuming everything good and light left in her. Diana had never felt so helpless. Not since - well, not since she had been forced to watch a plane explode with Steve Trevor inside it. Not since the last time she had watched someone she loved die. Only with Halina, it was in slow motion. 

_ Diana had come home one day to find many of Halina’s essential things gone, a mess left behind. Two empty bottles on the floor and one on the counter. A broken glass. No note. It hadn’t been too hard to track Halina down, but she wouldn’t come home. They were through. This had been the bottom of a pit out of which Halina could not climb, and Diana’s arms were not long enough to reach her.  _

_ There had been a few check-ins over the years. Some money lent. Two occasions in which Halina had slept on Diana’s couch and vanished before dawn. The last time Diana had heard anything, Halina had left town and made some promises to get help.  _

_ Diana had prayed for her.  _

Diana felt tears prickling at her eyes, but she couldn’t start crying in front of Chief. She sipped her tea even though she didn’t want it anymore, hoping the gentle steam rising from the cup would disguise the shine in her eyes. Chief, though, missed nothing, as usual. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said, his voice soothing in the quiet room. 

“I could have done more.”

“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“She was...she was so much better than what life gave to her.”

“I know.”

“She could have been...she could have done so much. Been so happy.”

“But the world pressed on her too hard,” said Chief knowingly. 

“I saw it in her. So many times. The possibilities.”

“We all have a world of possibilities in us.”

“An entire world,” Diana whispered, remembering the words from the Talmud that Halina had shared the second time they met, that incredible coincidence. Diana’s lot in life seemed to be meeting beautiful people by some outrageous force of destiny and then losing them. 

Chief nodded at a painting on the wall. “That’s hers, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And there’s another in my bedroom.”

“What a talent.”

“Yes.”

“If I know you, you’ll keep those paintings safe for as long as this world turns.”

“Of course I will.”

“Do they make you happy when you look at them?”

“No. They make me...wistful. But others, yes. Others say they make them happy.”

“What a gift Halina left behind, then. A touch of happiness in spite of everything.”

Diana managed to smile a tiny bit at that, knowing he was right. They drank their tea in silence for a few minutes. 

“So. Where are you these days?” Diana asked her dear friend.

“Oh, here and there. You know me,” said Chief, a little half-smile on his face. He rarely gave details. “I’ve been enjoying myself. What are you doing now?”

“I’m a reporter.”

“Are you really? You always said you might take that up.”

“And here I am. But...it’s not what I thought it might be.”

“No?”

“Before I came to this world, the concept of a cold war would have been laughable. Something to be ridiculed and insulted. And now I write about it.”

Diana sighed, setting her cup down. Chief looked at her, then at Halina’s painting. When he spoke again, he kept his eyes on the artwork. 

“You’re kind of big on honor,” he observes. “A cold war isn’t exactly honorable by your standards. I get that.”

“I wanted to write about culture. About triumphs. About the better side of things. But if you do that, especially when you’re a woman, people think you’re frivolous. To be taken seriously, you have to write about serious things. I wanted to be part of connecting and preserving the world, not part of breaking it up even more.”

“So do that.”

“I just told you -”

“Not with newspapers,” said Chief, waving a dismissive hand. “With that.”

Chief pointed to the painting on the wall as he spoke. Diana looked at the painting as well, not sure what he was trying to say.

“Preserving culture. Protecting the good things people create and leave behind. Sharing them with the world.  _ That’s  _ what you should be doing, not regurgitating the words of politicians. A cold war is no place for a warm person.”

“I’m not so sure I’m as warm as I once was.”

“Sure you are. You just bury it down a little more. Nothing wrong with that.”

Diana shrugged, looking anywhere but at Chief or Halina’s painting. Chief ducked his head a little to make her meet his eye. 

“Hey. You’re a protector. That’s what you are, at your core. Maybe you don’t put on that armor anymore, but I know what you get up to. All that about being a god killer? That’s not your purpose.”

“It’s why I was born.”

“The reason is between your parents. The purpose is your own.”

The distinction was as simple as could be, thanks to Chief’s particular talent for phrasing things in a way that got to the heart of the matter in just a few words. She smiled a bit, and Chief’s mouth twitched a bit in return. 

“So you think I should give up my glamorous world of shouting at politicians and chasing down crooked businessmen in favor of...what, being an art collector?”

“You’ll figure it out. And when you do, I’ll come by.”

“I hope so.”

Chief stood up. “I should be going.”

“So soon?”

“The world is calling.”

Diana walked him out, getting one more hug. They did not say goodbye to each other - they never did - but Chief did offer an extra squeeze of her arm before departing as casually as he arrived. Her apartment did not feel so empty anymore, as though Chief’s brief presence had left warmth behind, filling some of the empty space.

She stretched and tidied up a bit, feeling tired again, feeling saddened by the news of Halina, a dull grief in her chest. More grounded. Guided. Chief had lit a little spark in her brain with his suggestion, and for the first time in a while, she thought maybe the right path for her had just been opened.

She poured herself a glass of water and changed into pajamas, then stretched out in her bed without really intending to sleep. She needed a few hours to just rest in the quiet, to meditate in the dim light. Slats of streetlamps and neon shone weakly through the blinds, casting stripes onto Halina’s other painting. Diana often spent a long time looking at it, finding new little details in the busy, bold colors and rich textures. For years, the paintings had served as a quiet memorial, the way an urn of ashes might have been. She would look at them and see longing, see the ache for joy that Halina had never quite been able to feel and Diana’s own desperation to keep Halina from being lost to what she had survived. That night, she saw something else.

That night, she saw life.

 


	9. Chapter 9: Steve, 1997

Something about this time of year was always hard on him.

He had been doing well ever since taking charge of his life, ever since he had decided enough was enough and started actively working toward feeling better. Even after leaving California, he still took his vitamins, went on runs, got enough sleep, wrote in a journal, all those things you’re supposed to do to be healthy inside and out. Even so, and even when he had been at what he privately referred to as “textbook hippie”, he always started to feel low around autumn and well into winter.

It wasn’t exactly unusual, of course. Just about everyone felt a dip in their mood thanks to the cold and dark, so he never thought too much of it until he realized that one particular day hit him especially hard every year, knocking the wind out of him for a while after. Last year, it had been on a Monday, and he had not managed to get out of bed. He reasoned with himself that it was just a day like any other, and that maybe he was doing it to himself by feeding into the dread in the days leading up to it. A self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. Just because it was the day he had awakened to find his skin covered in black burns, in excruciating pain, lost in a strange place with no memory, that was no reason to give in to the darkness, right? After all, it had been quite a few decades. He should be over it.

And yet, there he sat on a Tuesday morning, feet on the cold floor, head in his hands, considering picking up the phone on his nightstand and calling in sick. Possibly even taking several days off in a row. The idea of going into the office and facing the chipper voice of the 22-year-old receptionist felt like too much to bear. He had called in sick the year before, claiming he’d been fighting a cold all weekend and needed a day or two to make sure he didn’t spread it to the whole office. The year before, he claimed car trouble. The same excuses probably wouldn’t work for a third year in a row, but he couldn’t figure out how to get himself in gear. Maybe he could say he had food poisoning. Or a family emergency. Or that a neighbor had gotten hurt and needed a ride to the hospital. Something. Anything.

Or he could get the hell up and live his life. He could stop letting the past keep screwing him up. He had made a lot of progress, come a long way. He had a lot to be proud of, so why did this time of year always try to push him back down again?

He forced himself to stand, feeling an ache all through his body at the motion. Every part of his brain screamed at him to stop, to go back to bed, to collapse and hide until he felt better. Everything just felt like too _much_. The light coming through his bathroom window was too bright, the water in the shower hit him too hard, and when he dropped a bottle of shampoo, the resulting bang was too loud and set his heart thumping too hard in response. He had no idea how he was going to get through this day.

Miraculously, though, he did. It was by the skin of his teeth, but still, he managed it.

Sure, he’d been late and had to blame a fictional detour, and he’d had to cancel a meeting by claiming he had a tech emergency, and he’d locked his office door for a full hour and made the excuse of a headache, but he made it through.

“Mr. Clayton?”

The knock on his door at five minutes after five was soft, and the voice belonged to the receptionist.

“Come in, Cherie,” he called, a little frustrated by how hoarse his voice sounded.

Cherie carefully cracked his door and poked her head in. “Hey. I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I went home.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“You sure? Do you need more aspirin?” Cherie stepped into the office fully and practically struck a pose. She was pretty and she knew it. “Or I can stay, if you’re still working. Man the phones.”

“No, really. Head on home. I’m leaving soon.”

“I don’t think you took lunch. Want me to get you something from the lobby before I go?”

“Cherie. Go on home.” He didn’t mean for his voice to sound cold.

Cherie’s kind smile faltered a bit, and she backed off. “Okay. Well...I hope you feel better tomorrow,” she said, that perky voice of hers losing its momentum.

She started to walk out, but Clayton felt bad for being rude and stood up. “Cherie, wait.”

The way she turned back around so quickly with her eyebrows raised so high gave her away, but he was so accustomed to her crush on him that he was able to disregard it.

“When’s the last time you got a raise?”

It wasn’t the question she had been hoping for, obviously, but she wasn’t completely disappointed. “Uh...never.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“You’ve been here two years.”

“I...yeah.”

“I wondered. Okay. Well, I’m going to talk to Stan about that tomorrow, then.”

“Really?”

“You go above and beyond and you’re probably the most punctual person on the staff here. You’ve more than earned it.”

Cherie’s cheeks turned a bit pink, and she smiled. “I...well, thank you, Mr. Clayton.”

He nodded. “Good night.”

Cherie left with a little more of a spring in her step, and Clayton sank back into his chair. At least he could say this hell of a day had a good deed tucked in there somewhere.

He finally dragged himself out of the office some forty-five minutes later, opting to hail a cab rather than walk as he usually did. The ride barely registered in his mind, and he paid rather more than he owed because he didn’t feel like waiting for change from the driver. By the time he made it up the stairs to his apartment, he was exhausted, and didn’t even bother to take his shoes off before falling diagonally across his bed and falling asleep.

He woke sometime in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat with his heart racing. He swallowed down the nausea and tried to steady his shaky hands as he stumbled to the bathroom to splash his face. The nightmares hadn’t been as bad for a while, or at least they had been more of the “jerk awake, take a breath, then go back to sleep” variety as of late. This felt like a huge step backwards.

_Breathe. Count the red things in the room. Breathe. 7. Breathe. Count the blue things. Breathe. 15. Breathe. Count the green things. Breathe. 3. Breathe._

It always felt a little silly, to be a grown man looking around the room and counting shapes and colors and letters in order to calm down after a bad dream, but he had to admit it helped. Something about focusing his attention on something so trivial forced his mind to quiet, then his body to follow suit.

The clock radio on his nightstand read 4:22. Too late for decent sleep, but too early to go into the office. He sighed and padded into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. He needed a haircut. It always bothered him when his hair got too long because it reminded him too much of those awful days back in the 30s, when he either cut his own hair or, more often, just let it grow into a mess because it was too much trouble.

He shook his shoulders a bit as though to shake off his irritation, opened the folding doors to the dryer, and pulled out some clean clothes. Might as well take a walk. Once he was dressed and had poured some coffee into a travel mug, he grabbed his keys and made his way out into the chill. This time of morning always held some strange unease for him, despite the quiet and peacefulness. He couldn’t explain it, but the couple of hours before dawn had always given him a tense feeling in his gut. He ignored it and walked, figuring he’d loop the neighborhood a few times until the bakery near his building opened so he could grab a bagel.

After his second lap, he stopped to check his watch when he heard an odd sound coming from the nearby alley. He peered down, squinting in the dark, but couldn’t see anything. He shook his head, figuring it must have been a fluke, and took a few steps before he heard it again. This time, he knew there was no mistaking it - it was a distinctive whimpering kind of sound. He walked carefully into the alley, not wanting to spook whoever or whatever was making the noise. It wasn’t until he was at the very end of it, illuminated by a weak light coming from near a fire escape, that he found the source.

It was a very fluffy, dirty, obviously scared puppy, curled up onto herself for warmth. She looked somewhat underfed, and there was no sign of a mother or any siblings around. He couldn’t imagine where she might have come from or how she got there, but he knew what he needed to do. He knelt down and set his mug aside, holding out a hand very slowly for her to sniff.

“Hey, little lady,” he murmured. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here to help.”

It took some time and a lot more coaxing, but eventually the puppy made her shaky way over to him. He let her sniff around him, let her inspect everything from his coffee to his shoes before carefully shedding his jacket and picking her up as gently as possible. She was still nervous, but let him hold her and pet her.

“Let’s get you somewhere warm, hmm?” he said, stroking behind her ears. “I think I have some leftovers in the fridge you might like. And some water. And we’ll get you a bath...you’ll have to use some dish soap, but I think it’ll be okay just this once.”

Back at his place, Clayton got the puppy set up with some leftover beef and rice and a big bowl of water, which she lapped up so quickly it broke his heart to think of how hungry and thirsty she must have been. By the time he got her cleaned up and wrapped in a fresh towel, the sun had risen and he had decided to take a personal day - not before leaving a message for Stan urging him to take a look at Cherie’s pay, of course. The puppy fell asleep in his lap, still wrapped in the towel, while he had called and left another message for Cherie to let her know he’d be out all day. He looked down at the puff of fur soundly sleeping and couldn’t help a little smile.

No way was he taking this dog to a shelter.

He jotted down a list of things he would need on the pad by the phone, everything from a leash to proper dog shampoo to a visit to the vet, and by the time he had finished, he had started to think of names for her. It wasn’t until she woke up and cuddled into him even more that he settled on one.

“Hey, Viola. What do you think of that name? Viola? Seems like a good name for a brave girl like you,” he said, petting the soft fur on her back. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us, Viola. We have shopping to do and vets to call. What do you think? Want to come with me?”

Viola made a tiny whimpering sound and wagged her tail in such a way that her whole backside wiggled adorably.

“I think that’s a yes.”

They made their way back out into the world, man and dog, man in a coat and dog bundled in a throw blanket. Several people stopped to coo over Viola and pet her, and she took to them immediately. It made Clayton smile to see that she was so trusting after either being lost or abandoned. The employees at the pet store were equally charmed by her and more than happy to help get them set up with everything needed to make Viola at home. Clayton learned that she was about a month old and looked to be a Saint Bernard, which meant she would quickly become a big dog.

“She’ll take over the whole couch before you know it,” said the friendly young woman at the cash register. “But big dogs can be so wonderful. I grew up with a Great Dane and he was a gentle giant.”

“Yeah? I bet that’ll be Viola,” says Clayton, running a thumb over the paw he held.

“Well, she’s a lucky girl. I bet you’ll give her a good home.”

“I will,” he promised both her and Viola as he took the receipt and tried to hide how easily he carried the very heavy bags, although they felt like they didn’t weigh much more than the puppy in his other arm.

He let Viola down so she could walk, bound by her new leash, and enjoyed the way she practically skipped down the sidewalk. Her boundless energy was infectious, and he realized when they got back to the apartment that he had smiled more since finding her than he had in a few weeks put together. Even when he was mopping up an accident, he was laughing about it, because she had given him a look that redefined “puppy dog eyes”.

Just a day ago he had been lower than he really wanted to admit. Now, his eyes were bright and he felt a warmth in his chest thanks to the antics and sweetness of this little stray. Both of them had turned up unexpectedly in the world, both of them had required some level of rescue, and both of them would always be a little bit of a mystery. But maybe they could be all that together. Maybe they could take care of each other.

For the first time in a long time, when he lay down in his bed, he didn’t feel that bit of emptiness that usually hung over him in the moment between turning off his light and rolling onto his side. That night, there was a soft, quietly snoring puppy curled up on the pillow next to him. That night, he didn’t feel lonely.

And that night, he slept well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really think Steve needs a dog. Something about him just says "dog person" to me, and of course, the value of an emotional support animal cannot be overstated.


	10. Chapter 10: Diana, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a time skip. I was planning on a couple more chapters before we got to this point, but you know what? I was in a very Veruca Salt kind of mood and decided I wanted a reunion NOOOOW. There will be much more to come, but the format will be different from here on out. 
> 
> Consider this part one of the next act of my take on Steve and Diana's story. Many, many thanks to ThoughtfulConstellations for her constant inspiration and patience. I'm sure she will find many familiar moments within this chapter. And for anyone reading this who has not read her numerous beautiful and brilliant works, do head over there after you finish up here.

Diana did not often get headaches, but on this particular day, it felt as though the throbbing in her temples might never end. The weather being miserable for the fourth day running didn’t exactly help - it was chilly, and the rain didn’t seem to want to commit one way or another, so Paris was unendingly coated in a relentless light mist that felt somehow wetter than a downpour. Her new assistant, Sylvie, had arrived late, soaked to the skin and carrying a folder stuffed with half-ruined documents and a face splotchy with frustrated tears. 

“I’m so sorry, Mademoiselle,” Sylvie had sputtered when Diana hurried over to her. “The road was slippery, and I just - there was this puddle, and I -”

Diana took the folder and managed not to tut at the state of the important forms within. Sylvie was clearly trying hard not to cry, and Diana would not be the reason she lost that battle. She gave Sylvie a kind smile. 

“Please, don’t worry. It isn’t your fault. Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself when you fell, did you?” she asked, glancing over the young woman with concern. 

Sylvie shook her head, but she shifted her weight all the same. “No, I’m fine.”

“Sylvie.”

Sylvie hesitated, then turned her foot, displaying a badly skinned ankle. Diana immediately set down the folder and went to her desk. 

“Sit down,” she told Sylvie. “Take off your shoe.”

Sylvie did as she was told, and Diana brought over the small first aid kit she kept in her desk drawer. She knelt down and carefully cleaned Sylvie’s ankle, then set a bandage over it. When she looks up at Sylvie, she gave her a smile. 

“There. How does that feel?” she asked. 

“Better. Thank you.”

“Do you need ice?”

“No, I - I’m fine. I should...I can make some calls and see about getting new copies of all of those papers, see if I can have them here by noon. Or I could just go back out, I could take a taxi this time, and I could-”

“Sylvie. Please. It’s all right. Let me see if any of these papers can be salvaged first, and in the meantime, go get yourself cleaned up and dried off. And have a cup of coffee. Then we will see what needs to be done.” 

Sylvie looked again like she might cry, but not for the same reason as before. Diana stood and placed a hand on her assistant’s shoulder before she left, then went back to the desk to try and figure out how on earth she could get this squared away before it became a problem. Most of the papers were half-destroyed, but a few were clear enough to be read if some educated guesses were employed. Diana would work with what she had and make a few calls herself so that poor Sylvie wouldn’t have to know just how much had been ruined in the rain. 

Thus began the headache. 

At about 10:15, Sylvie came in with what was clearly an apology cup of Diana’s favorite tea and a stack of messages. Diana made sure to give her an extra-warm smile and ask again about her ankle before diving into returning calls. There were more messages than she had anticipated, and she was halfway through her normal lunch hour before she got a chance to breathe. 

It wasn’t until she had yanked her headset off and rested her head in her hands for a moment to try and center herself that she realized she could hear what sounded like an argument in English from outside her office door. 

“I’m sorry, but unless you have an appointment-”

“She  _ knows  _ me. We’ve been friends for years.”

“I appreciate that, but Mademoiselle Prince is very busy-”

“Yeah, I know, I understand that, but this is important. It’s  _ vitally  _ important, and-”

“Monsieur, I must insist-”

Diana opened the door with wide eyes at the sight of Sylvie standing up to and arguing with a man head and shoulders taller than her, a man whose voice still somehow sounded gentle despite the urgency in his tone. Diana stepped forward, but before she could say anything, Sylvie caught her eye and hurried around her desk. 

“Mademoiselle, I’m so sorry if we interrupted. This man, he says he knows you, but he isn’t in your appointment books, and -”

“It’s all right, Sylvie. He’s a friend,” said Diana, walking past Sylvie to extend a hand to Chief. 

Chief shook her hand tightly, his lips pressed together. Everything about his posture, his face, the way he gripped her hand said that something was very wrong. Diana had never seen him in such a state, not even in the middle of the war, and it set her heart thumping uncomfortably fast. Sylvie looked from one to the other, clearly confused and apologetic. 

“Sylvie, please mind the desk. No calls,” Diana said briskly, before Sylvie could ask any questions. 

Sylvie squeaked out some sort of response and hurried back to her desk as Diana led Chief into her office and closed the door, then locked it for good measure. She turned to Chief, eyes wide with concern for her friend. 

“Chief. Please, sit down. Let me get you some water,” she said, gesturing to a chair and pouring some water from a bottle into a glass for him. 

Chief sat heavily, shedding his damp coat in the process. He took the water from Diana, but did not drink. Instead, he leaned his elbow on his leg and pressed a hand over his eyes. 

“What’s happening? Are you all right?” Diana asked, pulling up the other chair and sitting close to him. 

Chief met her eyes, and Diana could see they were a little red. 

“I’ve made a huge mistake,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what yesterday was,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Diana nodded. “One hundred years. A century since...it’s a significant thing, a century. There’s something about that space of time...I’ve never understood it, but there it is.”

“What are you talking about?” Diana repeated. 

“Do you remember when we talked about how I sense things? How I can sense people?”

“Of course.”

“And you remember what I said about Steve?”

The mention of Steve’s name stings, but Diana hides it. “Yes. I remember you said that when he died, it felt like a whisper had gone quiet.”

Chief nods. “Exactly. And I was certain. I felt him, and then I didn’t. The instant that plane exploded, whatever the connection was, it was gone. I was certain of it. Diana, I was sure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was wrong.”

“I don’t-”

“He’s alive.”

Diana blinked, waiting for the metaphor to kick in, for Chief to clarify that he’s speaking figuratively, for those words to make sense. Chief just shook his head and dropped it back into his hand. 

“What are you talking about?” Diana asked, keeping her voice slow and steady.

Chief took a breath. “I’m...I’m trying to say that yesterday...I don’t know. Something happened. That connection - the whisper? - it was back. And when I felt it, I felt the same certainty about him that I can feel about you. It was...there’s no mistaking it. It’s him. He’s out there somewhere.”

“Chief. Steve went into that plane, and it - there’s no way he could have survived.”

“That’s what I thought. Between the explosion, the gas, and the fall, no normal person would have made it. And I felt him go. I felt it. He  _ did _ , but...but somehow he didn’t. Diana. I know it sounds crazy.”

Diana stood up, walking over to her window and staring out of it, trying to make sense of what Chief was saying. She trusted the man implicitly, she trusted his abilities, she trusted that he wouldn’t have come to her and said all this if he didn’t truly believe it to be true. But all the same, it was beyond belief, beyond comprehension, that somehow Steve could be alive and well and out there somewhere without either of them realizing it for a hundred years. 

Chief stood and took a couple of steps toward her. “Diana. Please. I know how it sounds. But you have to believe me. He’s alive. Steve’s alive.”

Diana turned to face Chief. “All right. All right, let’s...let’s say that’s true. Let’s say he is. Where is he? Where has he been all this time?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Then how do you know for sure it’s him?”

“I can’t - that would be like trying to explain how I know your dress is red. I just know it.”

Diana nodded at the fairness of that statement. “Well, then, what do we do? How do we find him?”

“Well, that’s where I was hoping you might be able to help. Or...at least, a friend of yours.”

Diana knew exactly who he meant. “I’m not certain Batman will be able to help.”

“But if anyone could…”

“He’d have the technology. And the connections,” Diana finished for him. “You’re right. I could...I’ll see what he can do.”

Chief stepped a bit closer. “If I had known sooner…” he began, his voice low with guilt. 

Diana couldn’t stand the idea of Chief being harsh on himself for something like this, and she took his hand in both of hers. He met her eyes, letting Diana see the pain behind them. He must have been agonizing over this, over how to tell her he had sensed Steve’s spirit, and it broke Diana’s heart to see her usually unflappable friend so distressed. She knew how much he had cared about Steve, how he had valued their unlikely friendship. He had told her so many stories over the years about how Steve had made him laugh, how they had covered each other in dangerous situations, how they had talked about their mutual love for a land Chief's people had once ruled and Steve's people had settled upon and taken as their own, how they had reached an unspoken understanding and kinship despite that. She squeezed his hand and lifted her chin.

“Thank you,” she said. “For telling me. I just need to process all that you’re saying, so for now…”

“I should go.”

“No. I was going to say you should stay. If you can. Go to my apartment. Rest. I’m sure you’re exhausted after coming all this way from wherever you were before. Make yourself at home, all right? Whatever you need. I’ll be there this evening, and then we’ll figure out the next step. All right?”

Diana rummaged in her bag and handed Chief her keys. She didn’t need to give him the address, knowing he’d somehow know it the way he always did. He took the keys and held them in his fist, looking at her as though worried about her. 

“Chief. It’s all right. Please,” she said, pushing at his hand just a little. 

Chief nodded and tucked the keys into his pocket, then went to get his coat. “I’ll do what I can. Try to keep an ear out, you know?”

“And I’ll do what I can. I’ll make some calls.”

“See you in a little while.”

“Yes. See you.”

Chief gave her another nod before leaving, passing a very interested-but-trying-to-be-discreet Sylvie and giving her a quick, mumbled apology for the earlier confusion. Diana sank into the chair behind her desk and rubbed her temples. Her head was throbbing by now. Sylvie waited a respectful amount of time before knocking on the open door. 

“Mademoiselle? Are you all right?” she asked carefully. 

“Yes. Thank you, Sylvie.”

“If you have a headache, I keep aspirin in my desk.”

Diana looked up and gave her a patient smile. “I would appreciate it. Thank you.”

Sylvie quickly brought Diana two aspirin, and Diana swallowed them down with Chief’s untouched water. 

“We’re both having quite a day,” Sylvie noted, trying to commiserate. 

“Yes,” Diana agreed. 

“Do you need to go home? I’m sure I can...try and manage.”

“No, no. I just need a few more minutes so I can have a bite to eat, then I’ll be all right. Did you get your lunch?”

“I ate at my desk.”

Diana nodded. “Give me ten minutes, then you can take your coffee break and forward my calls again.”

“Of course.”

Sylvie left, and Diana leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed. Her brain simply would not accept what Chief had said, but her heart…

Well, her heart had always been a hopeful thing, no matter how many times it had been broken over the years. That was the only way she could go on. Even though she believed what Chief was saying - well, believed that he believed it - she could not simply accept it as truth, sight unseen. Yet her heart ached, desperate to go searching for Steve immediately, to find him alive and well by some miracle and reunite. The hope tugging at her chest felt almost unbearable when met by the doubt in her mind.

She picked up her phone and dashed off a quick message to Bruce. 

_ Can we talk tonight? Important, but not time-sensitive. I just need help with something.  _

His response was predictably terse and prompt:  _ Sure. 7 your time. _

7:00. That gave her several hours to turn everything Chief said over and over in her head. To pick apart everything he had told her and try to find some logic, some little detail that would pull it all together and make it all make sense. Prove that he was mistaken somehow, that Diana hadn’t spent a century carrying grief in her heart over someone who hadn’t been lost after all. 

That she hadn’t abandoned Steve when he was still out there somewhere. 

She shook the thought away and buried herself in her work. There was still work to do, still a kind assistant pretending her ankle wasn’t throbbing as she brought Diana tea and messages, still forms to fill out and stunning artwork to assess. The world would not stop at Diana’s convenience. By the time the end of the workday arrived, Diana’s headache had returned, and her nerves felt frayed. All the same, she made sure to thank Sylvie for her good work and encourage her to take it easy that night, to laugh a little as she hoped tomorrow would be better. 

Back at Diana’s apartment, she was relieved to find that Chief was managing to get some sleep, taking up her couch and a few inches of the ottoman. She walked silently into the kitchen and began to pull some ingredients out of the refrigerator and pantry, certain he hadn’t eaten anything and knowing she would need to force herself to have something before they dove into this strange investigation. She was halfway through throwing together a salad when she heard Chief stir in the next room. A moment later, he joined her, blinking blearily and squinting at the food. 

“I thought we would need some fuel,” said Diana, quickly giving him a one-armed hug before he could say anything. She saw an apology beginning to form on his face and couldn’t bear to hear it. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, actually. Thank you. That’s quite a couch,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Can I help?”

“If you like.”

Chief took over making some pasta, and they worked in companionable silence for a while, not talking until they were seated at the table and several bites in. Diana filled him in about her plans to speak with Batman - Chief immediately offered to clear out during their conversation to protect Batman’s identity, which Diana appreciated greatly. As 7:00 ticked closer, a knot in the pit of Diana’s stomach grew tighter. She ignored it. 

“I’ll be back later,” Chief said at five till, leaving without another word. 

Diana settled in front of her computer, trading her water from dinner for a glass of wine, and waited for Bruce’s call. He called at exactly one second to 7:00. Diana felt the knot in her stomach ease slightly at the sight of her friend. 

“Bruce. Thank you for calling,” she said, setting down her wine. 

“Of course,” said Bruce. His face was glowing with the light of several monitors in the cave. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to...I need you to help me find someone. And I need you to not look at me as if I’ve lost my mind when I tell you who.”

“All right.”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I. Who is it?”

Diana took a breath, and even then thought about just closing the computer and ending the call. Then her heart took over.

“I need you to look into Steve Trevor,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt.

Bruce sat quietly for a few seconds. “Steve Trevor. As in…”

“Yes.”

Another silence. “Diana…”

“I know. I know how it sounds. But I have a very reliable source who insists that he might be...that he’s somehow alive. And if there’s even the slightest chance…”

“Where was he last seen?”

“That’s just it, he wasn’t. There’s no telling where he could be. It’s just knowing that he’s there.”

“Well, I have the photograph. I can do my best with facial recognition, but I’ll be honest, it’s not the clearest. It may lead nowhere.”

“I know. But you’re my best chance.”

Bruce nodded, and Diana could see a thousand questions in his eyes, none of which he would ask. 

“All right,” he said. “Sit tight. Let me see if I can clear up the photo a bit. You may be able to help me out with some other details. Height, weight, hair, eyes, that sort of thing.”

Diana nodded and waited while Bruce got to work. He showed her how he was working to pull more detail from the antique photo, the ways he manipulated the contrast and sharpness to make it as clear as possible. He created a colorized version as well, based on Diana’s best recollection of Steve’s appearance. The sight of that photo sent a wave of emotion crashing over her, as she looked at an approximation of his clear blue eyes that no photo or reproduction could ever truly capture. 

“That’s...that looks just about right, yes,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady. 

“It’s going to take some time. And, Diana...I can’t promise I’ll get a hit at all.”

“I know that. I know. But I have to try.”

Bruce nodded and feverishly began typing on another computer. He glanced up at her after a moment. 

“This source of yours. You’re certain they can be trusted?”

“Absolutely,” Diana said without hesitation. 

“Because if there’s any doubt, if there’s a chance they’re using Trevor as some way to get to you…”

“Bruce. I trust this person without question. The way I trust you.”

Something in Bruce’s eyes shifted, and he nodded again. “All right.”

Diana had nearly finished her wine by the time Bruce looked back at the screen. 

“And now we wait,” he said quietly. 

It was Diana’s turn to nod without speaking, feeling suddenly nervous more than anything else. If Chief was right, if Steve was out there somewhere…

She squared her shoulders. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“If I find anything, I’ll contact you immediately.”

“Thank you,” she said again, before they both signed off at the same time. 

She sat in the silence of her dining room for a few minutes, only the sound of the clock in her office gently ticking filling the apartment, marking each passing second, each second that might bring her closer to the truth about Steve. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the little details about him. The scratch of his cheek in the morning, the way his voice rumbled like waves when he spoke quietly, the brief flash of joy in his eyes when he laughed. If she tried hard enough, she could remember the scent of soap and gunpowder that lingered on him. 

A sob threatened to escape her, sudden and catching her off guard, and she fought it back. 

Chief returned an hour later, with chocolates and a quiet, hopeful smile. 

***

Days passed with no word from Bruce. It took everything in Diana’s power not to call him every night to ask for updates. 

***

It was an hour before dawn on Sunday when Bruce called. 

Diana nearly crushed her phone in her haste to answer it, not even bothering to greet Bruce before asking “Is he…?”

“I’m sending you some information right now,” said Bruce. “Get to your computer.”

Diana did not hesitate, hurrying to her office and opening her secure e-mail right away. There was a message from Bruce with a large attachment. When she opened it, the first thing she saw was Steve’s face. Her knees went weak and she sat with rather less grace than usual. It was Steve, unmistakably Steve, but it was a photo she had never seen before. It was Steve with a different hairstyle, Steve looking thinner, Steve with clothes on that were not of the time during which Diana had known him. But it was Steve. There were a few other photos, photos in which his outfit became more modern or his hair changed somewhat, photos where he looked progressively healthier than in the first, and all were Steve. One was a remarkably clear picture, his eyes bright and looking directly into the camera, the start of a laugh on his face. 

Diana had almost forgotten she was holding the phone to her ear with Bruce on the other end until he spoke. 

“It’s him, isn’t it,” Bruce said, his voice soft and unquestioning. 

“How…?” Diana began, but she didn’t even know what she was asking. 

“If you keep going through the file, it should shed a lot of light. He has taken on many identities over the years, moved around a lot, kept a low profile. No social media presence whatsoever, but I found plenty of other records. Records that appear shortly after the end of the war. Shortly after he died. It all checks out.”

“I don’t understand how...how he could…”

“Neither do I. But stranger things have happened, and certainly to us. Diana, it’s him.”

“Where is he now?”

“Boston. He goes by David Innes now, and he works for a small security firm. The sort of place that sets up cameras and alarms, cybersecurity, consults for other businesses, that kind of thing.”

“Security,” she repeats. “That makes sense.”

“I’ve contacted him.”

“You’ve what?” Diana said, alarmed now. 

“Relax, I didn’t let on. I contacted him as Bruce Wayne, whose company may be interested in having his do some work for our Boston offices. We’re looking at expanding to a new building anyway. All legitimate.”

“Bruce, I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know that. But it’s done, and we have a meeting.”

An odd flash of anger surged through Diana. Bruce often took things into his own hands without consulting anyone else, and she was accustomed to that sort of thing from him, but it didn’t make it any less infuriating. Especially now, with the situation being so delicate and personal. She took a breath and tried to swallow down her reaction before she snapped at him. 

“And when is this meeting?” she asked, keeping her voice slow. 

“Wednesday morning. I hoped that would give you enough time to make plans to come with me.”

“Bruce-”

“Diana,” Bruce spoke before she could get another word in, and something in his voice made her quiet and listen. “Please. If you come along, you can know for sure. Without doubt. I know you well enough to know that all those photos and that huge file of records won’t satisfy you. You need to see him for yourself. You need to speak to him.”

Diana knew he was right, as much as she hated to admit it. All the proof on paper in the world wouldn’t entirely convince her, not the same way that seeing Steve in the flesh would. Without that sort of confirmation, she could continue to tell herself that it was all just a misunderstanding. 

“Diana?” Bruce’s voice prodded her after a moment of her silence. 

“All right. Yes. Yes, I’ll...I’ll make the arrangements with work.”

“And I’ll send a plane.”

They spoke a bit longer, making the necessary arrangements, ending with Bruce promising to send along the details soon. When they hung up, Diana realized her hands were shaking. 

***

She spent the rest of the night staring at each of the photos of Steve over the years, slowly reading through the file that Bruce had compiled. He must have stayed awake for days to gather all of the information in such a short amount of time, and Diana would have felt grateful if she’d had room for any emotion other than an odd, lingering sort of shock.

The records were not an easy read at first. There were a few hospital records, some detailing a man with terrible burns all over his body who healed shockingly quickly, others speaking of a man with broken ribs that seemed to knit back together within a couple of weeks. Still others spoke of a man who came into a hospital, desperate and seemingly broken, begging for help, no idea as to who he really was and just wanting his pain to end. Diana had to walk away from the computer for a few minutes after that particular record also produced another photo, one of an underfed and exhausted-looking Steve turning his face from the camera while a doctor and nurse proudly posed, obviously unconcerned with their patient’s privacy. 

The rest was not so painful. It seemed that Steve had eventually settled into better times, even appearing in photos with some friends and looking quite happy as the years went on. She lingered on a picture of him at what looked to be a New Year’s Eve party. He was leaning against a dining room table, drink in hand and a ridiculous hat on his head, laughing. Diana zoomed in on his face, staring at the familiar crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

It was him. She knew it. But she still had to see him in person to trust it.

***

“Diana?”

Diana startled very slightly, brought out of her reverie by Bruce leaning toward her. 

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?” said Diana apologetically. 

Bruce shook his head. “Nothing important. Are you all right?”

“I’m…”

Diana didn’t answer, instead looking back out the window of the car. She had landed in Boston late the night before, gotten a little fitful sleep, and been met at her hotel by Bruce’s gleaming car at 9:00 sharp. She had fretted over what to wear, whether Steve would recognize her right away, if it would shock him to see her or if he would be happy, or if - it pained her to think - he might be angry with her. If he might want nothing to do with her. After all, she had abandoned him, believing him to be dead and never thought to look for him. What if he had held a century-long grudge and that’s why he never sought her out? 

Bruce reached over and briefly rested his hand on her forearm. It was as close to a tender gesture as the man would generally allow himself, and even that was ever only with Diana. 

“It’ll be all right,” he said, searching for her eyes. 

She barely let them meet his as she nodded. “Of course.”

Bruce gave her arm a little squeeze and let go just as the car came to a stop. Alfred opened Diana’s door while Bruce fended for himself. 

“Chin up, my dear,” Alfred muttered to Diana fondly, giving her an encouraging smile. 

Diana nodded and took a breath, then smoothly returned Alfred’s smile and joined Bruce in walking into the building where Steve worked. The place was fairly simple and unassuming, but tastefully decorated and full of light. Diana could just imagine Steve right at home in a place like this, even when she had known him during the war. She looked around, smiling at a young man at the nearest desk who immediately turned a deep shade of crimson and sputtered out a greeting.

“Mr. Wayne?”

Diana wheeled around, her heart leaping to her throat. Bruce pressed his hand between her shoulders for only a second, reassuring her, before stepping forward with his best Bruce Wayne smile to shake Steve Trevor’s hand.

“Please, it’s Bruce,” he said, his voice shifting from its usual low timbre to the louder tone he used for the public. 

“And I’m David. Great to meet you. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be bringing a colleague.” Steve’s eyes turned to Diana, brilliantly blue in the light of the room and making her heart skip again. He extended his hand to Diana. “David Innes.”

“Diana. Diana Prince,” she said, looking for a flash of recognition in his eyes, but she found none. 

Steve smiled brightly at them both and gestured behind him. “Please, let’s go talk. My office is that first door on the right. Have you two had coffee yet?”

“Far too much,” Bruce laughed. “Diana?”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” said Diana. 

She glanced at Bruce as they sat in Steve’s office, but he predictably made no indication as to his thoughts. Steve sat behind the desk and pulled something up on his computer, turning the screen toward Bruce so he could see it. 

“Well, no use beating around the bush, the building you’re looking to acquire needs some serious updating,” Steve began, and a moment later he and Bruce had launched into a detailed conversation that Diana only pretended to follow. 

She made all the right motions, nodding and agreeing when needed, but she didn’t hear a word. All she could hear when he spoke were the words he’d murmured to her in the snow in Veld a hundred years before, the words he’d whispered in the bed they shared. Every time he glanced her way, she could see the hope in his eyes when he had said goodbye to her before running to the plane. Every time he flashed her a smile, it was the same smile she had seen when he had clinked beer bottles with Sammy and Charlie in the woods. 

Bruce and Steve spoke and discussed things for about half an hour and began the process of shaking hands and talking about next steps. Diana was still half in the past when she suddenly realized the men were making dinner plans. 

“It’s a great place. They change the menu up all the time, so you never know what you’re going to get. So if you’re feeling brave…” Steve was saying with a grin. 

“Oh, I think we can handle that. Diana, what do you think?” said Bruce, turning to her. 

“Yes,” she said, without really knowing what she was agreeing to. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

“How’s 7:00 sound?” asked Steve. 

“Perfect. We’ll see you tonight. Looking forward to it,” said Bruce, and he shook Steve’s hand again. 

“Until tonight,” said Steve, holding his hand out to Diana, the slightest shyness entering his voice, which no one but Diana would have noticed. 

“Yes. Tonight,” Diana said, and it took everything in her to release his hand. 

Steve saw them out and they stepped into the waiting car. Diana watched out the window, returning Steve’s friendly wave with a slightly shaking hand, which she used to cover her mouth as soon as they were out of sight. Bruce immediately moved over to her. 

“Diana?” he prompted, the concern clear in his voice. 

“He doesn’t know me,” she whispered after a moment. “He doesn’t...he doesn’t know who I am.”

“Amnesia,” said Bruce knowingly. 

“He doesn’t know me.” 

The pain of that statement hit her all at once, but she beat it back. She could cry in private at the hotel, but she would not cry in the car while Bruce Wayne stared at her like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult mathematical equation in his head.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, looking out the window again. “He seems well. Happy.”

“You can’t possibly think he’s happier not knowing you.”

Diana shrugged. 

“There’s no way,” Bruce insisted, speaking with a tone Diana was unaccustomed to. 

Diana didn’t respond, but Bruce understood.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Steve, 2018

David wondered briefly if this was what teenagers felt like when they got ready for a school dance.

It was just _dinner_ . It was just a _business dinner_ at that. Just a thank-you dinner with, yes, the most impressive client he had ever landed, and, yes, the most charming and stunningly beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on in his entire century’s worth of memories.

Not...not that he was actually thinking he had any kind of shot with Diana Prince, not that he was even going to try. A woman like her, there’s no way she could be single. She’d have some beautiful man or woman waiting back home, someone interesting and smart and cultured. She struck David as the type who actually goes to the opera for fun and not just for an opening night gala to walk the red carpet and pose for the society pages. Not that she would _need_ to. She had a regal kind of air about her, like someone who had spent all their life living among the finer things without being spoiled by them. And that smile…

...yeah, this was going to be an interesting night.

He threw aside the fifth shirt he had tried on and rejected. The restaurant he had suggested they try was a fairly casual place, since he knew taking Bruce Wayne to the fanciest place in town would probably bore the man to tears. He could imagine how often Bruce sat through stuffy dinners at places with four sets of silverware and waiters that spoke in hushed tones as though dinner was some kind of conspiracy. David had found this little place when he was out for one of his walks one night, really just a hole in the wall, that turned out to be one of the best meals he ever had. It was the kind of place where time didn’t seem to exist, lit mainly by kitschy neon signs and small table lamps, staffed by a young and enthusiastic crew covered in tattoos.

So the sixth boring button-down he tried on was also rejected. He didn’t want to look like someone’s dad walking into that place. He tossed the shirt onto the bed, much to the annoyance of his dog, who huffed indignantly when it landed on her.

“Sorry, Miranda,” he said to the sleepy sheepdog taking up half the mattress. “You could make yourself useful and give me some guidance, you know.”

Miranda yawned. David searched in his closet until he found an old shirt he had hung on to for a long time, something he’d actually owned back in the 60s. He didn’t have a particularly sentimental attachment to it or anything, he just liked it and could never quite seem to part with it, and it was still in great shape. He tried it on with his jeans and looked at himself.

“Okay...yeah, I think this works,” he muttered, fiddling with his hair. He took a breath, then went over to scratch Miranda’s belly. “You be good while I’m gone, yeah?”

Miranda wagged and panted happily at him, which boosted his confidence a bit. After one more quick wash-up and grabbing his jacket, David was out the door, walking in the cool early evening air toward the restaurant. He would arrive early, but that was on purpose. He could pick out a good table and have a moment to calm his nerves. And that was another matter - since _when_ did he get so fluttery and nervous about this sort of thing? Not that he never got nervous, but this felt like jitters more than anything. And it was just _dinner_. Nothing to get anxious about. Just dinner. Still, he had to wipe his palms on his jacket before he opened the door to the restaurant.

One of the servers recognized him from the last time he’d been in, and she gave him a big smile, which he gratefully returned.

“Nice shirt,” she said when he shed his jacket.

“Huh? Oh, thanks,” said David. “Uh, listen, it’s not just me. I’ve got two other people coming.”

“Sure thing. Take the table in the back right. You can see into the kitchen from there, might be kind of fun. I’ll go ahead and grab menus so they’ll be ready when your friends get here.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Get you a drink while you wait?” the server added, clearly picking up on his nerves.

“I, uh...yeah, why not. Beer, whatever’s on special is fine.”

“Coming right up.”

David sat down and set his phone on the table to keep an eye on the time. The server brought three menus and a tall glass of beer, gave him another bright smile, and left him to wait. He read over the menu twice and drank half his beer before checking his phone. It was still early. He opened up the news app and read a few articles to pass the time. In the middle of reading a review of a book he’d been curious about, he happened to glance up and see her.

Diana had walked in first, after Bruce held the door for her, and David felt his heart skip a beat. She had dressed casually - hair in a simple twist high on her head, jeans, and a loose red blouse - but she looked as elegant as if she were wearing a ball gown. She craned her neck just slightly and looked around, then caught David’s eye and smiled, causing David’s heart to stop completely for a minute there. God forbid she laugh, he might go into cardiac arrest. Bruce joined with a quick hand on Diana’s back, and he waved at David as they made their way to the table.

David stood up to greet them both, a hearty handshake from Bruce first. “Good to see you again.”

“Quite a place,” said Bruce. He had also dressed casually, or at least casually for a billionaire. David amused himself with a brief image of Bruce walking around in a closet the size of a two-bedroom apartment.

“It has a lot of personality,” David agreed, quickly moving to pull out a chair for Diana and shake her hand as well.

“It’s lovely,” said Diana, looking right into David’s eyes as she spoke.

“It, uh...yeah, it is.”

Bruce made a bit of a show of grabbing a menu and looking it over, which broke the brief spell Diana had cast. She sat, and David settled.

“So, what are we drinking?” asked Bruce, glancing at David’s glass.

“I don’t even know what this is. It’s good, though, if you’re a beer guy.”

“I’m not, really.”

“Well, I’m up for anything. Diana?”

Diana’s eyes met David’s again, warm and rich under a hot pink sign over her head.

“Red wine, I think. Malbec, maybe,” she suggested.

“Sounds great.”

They ordered a bottle that Diana assured them was excellent - with a playful tilt to her mouth as she teased them a bit about their lack of wine knowledge - and decided to order over half the menu to share. Small talk was made, and once the weather, the neighborhood, and the ambiance of the restaurant had all been exhausted, wine was poured, and the conversation turned more personal. Diana seemed very curious about David, which surprised him.

“Did you grow up near here?” she asked, leaning forward on the table a bit.

“I, uh...no, I sort of grew up all over the place,” said David, for half a second forgetting this identity’s cover story.

“Army brat?” Bruce guessed.

“Something like that. So there was lots of moving around. What about you?” he asked, smoothly turning the attention away from him and back to Diana.

“I grew up far from here. Near Greece. A little island whose name I’m sure you couldn’t pronounce,” she said, peering at him over her glass with a smile lighting her eyes. “And I’ve moved all over. I’ve spent time in London, New York, Gotham, Chicago...now Paris.”

“Paris, huh?”

“Yes. I work at the Louvre.”

David was impressed and certain it showed. “The Louvre? Wow, that’s...so, wait, what’s your connection with Wayne Enterprises?”

Bruce laughed then. “She’s not technically connected, but she’s one of only a few people whose opinions I trust implicitly. She reads people well. I figured she’d be good to bring along for our meeting, as a second opinion.”

Diana smiled a little at Bruce, who gave her an appreciative nod. “Bruce has been a generous donor to the museum over the years, too. I owed him a favor.”

Bruce started to respond, but his phone rang. He frowned and pawed at his jacket, searching for it. “I’m sorry, I thought I set this to silent,” he said as he pulled it out of his pocket. “Excuse me.”

Bruce stood and pressed the phone to his ear before David or Diana could say anything, and he quickly left the restaurant, presumably to avoid being rude. David turned back to Diana, who was refilling her wine glass with a slight crease between her eyebrows.

“I guess he’s busy most of the time, huh?” David asked.

“Yes, he is,” Diana said, her tone the slightest bit shorter.

David hated the idea that she wasn’t having a good time, and thankfully the food began to arrive as a welcome distraction. They agreed that Bruce would want them to go ahead and begin, and Diana’s mood lifted considerably once she tasted the first plate. David couldn’t help a grin.

“Told you it was good,” he said, unable to resist watching her wide-eyed reaction. She looked as giddy as a child trying ice cream for the first time, and it was funny how a woman so elegant could be so completely adorable.

“This is wonderful,” she said, going for another bite immediately.

“This is why I like coming here. It’s always a surprise.”

“You like surprises?”

“Well...I like little surprises. I don’t mind not knowing what’s in a Christmas present. Beyond that, not really, so this is just about my speed.”

Diana laughed softly. She had such a lovely laugh. “I understand.”

“I imagine you had all kinds of wonderful food, growing up in Greece.”

Diana nodded, her smile turning softer. “I’ve tried to recreate the dishes of my childhood, in my own kitchen. They’re never quite right.”

David had no recollection of his own childhood and could never relate, but he returned her smile all the same. “I know the feeling,” he said, which wasn’t really a lie, technically. He had spent plenty of time fiddling around in the kitchen, occasionally hoping a scent or taste might spark a memory or provide a clue to his real identity. “So, you’re a good cook?”

“I’m hardly a chef, but I enjoy it,” said Diana modestly.

“I’ve been trying to improve lately. Trying to follow along with cooking videos and things like that.”

“And how is that going?”

“I...burned a whole chicken last week.”

Diana laughed, melodious and bright, and David felt something in his chest tighten even as he smiled back at her.

“Well, there is no mistake so great that a lesson may not be learned from it,” Diana said, her eyes twinkling.

“Well put,” said David, lifting his glass to her.

Bruce returned a moment later, looking a bit grumpy. “I hate to do this, but I can’t stay.”

Diana’s smile disappeared instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not an emergency, it’s bureaucracy. I’ve got to get to my computer and contact some folks back at the home office,” Bruce muttered, firing off a text to someone with rather more force than was necessary for a touchscreen. “Listen, I spoke to the hostess and the bill’s all taken care of. You two stay, order anything else you want, enjoy the night, all right? I really apologize for this, but it’s unavoidable. Rain check.”

Bruce had already shaken hands with David, given Diana’s shoulder a brief pat, and started his rush out the door, phone to his ear again, before either of them could say anything back. Diana looked like she was biting her cheek to keep from speaking. Barely a second later, her face had smoothed back into a mild, pleasant expression.

“Well,” she said. “I say we do as the man says and enjoy the night.”

“Seconded,” David agreed with a little laugh.

Diana topped off their wine and began to answer all of David’s questions about her work at the Louvre, her life in Paris, her hobbies, anything he could think to ask about. He loved listening to her talk, loved the way her voice would drop lower when she spoke of her favorite works of art, how her eyes lit up while she told him a story about a tiny old man who came to the museum every afternoon to sit in front of different sculptures to try and sketch them.

“It was his life’s ambition to be an artist, but he was never able to learn. When he retired, he finally had the time,” she said, warm fondness in her voice. “He’s very good.”

“That’s great. That he was able to finally get to do what he really loves. Everyone should get to do that.”

“What would you choose to do?” asked Diana, the edges of her voice softening in a way that made David lean in a little closer without even realizing it.

“I, uh...that’s a good question. I don’t know.” Was it David’s imagination, or - no, Diana was definitely leaning forward as well, just an inch or so, but the pull between them felt like a magnetic force. “Maybe I’d try writing.”

“A novelist is waiting inside you, then?”

“Could be. Whether I’d be any good is anyone’s guess. What would you choose?”

Diana thought for a moment, still holding David’s gaze. Were they leaning even closer now?

“I don’t know if there would be any particular hobby, one specific passion,” she said. “I think, for me, just living a simple life might be enough. Enjoying the little pleasures of life. Appreciating the moments as they come. Appreciating love wherever it is to be found.”

David had to catch himself, because he had the overwhelming urge to kiss her in that instant, and if he didn’t get a grip on himself he knew he would just make a fool of himself. She was smiling at him sweetly, and the word “angel” came to mind, along with something else, something he couldn’t place, something tugging at his mind and his heart in a way he couldn’t comprehend. He leaned back slightly and cleared his throat.

“I think that sounds great,” he said at last, his own voice too quiet.

The sound of the restaurant seemed muffled somehow, anyone else’s presence a distant detail. Diana placed a hand on his arm, a touch so light he should have barely felt it, but it may as well have been a full embrace. It lasted only a second. As soon as she moved her hand, he missed the feel of it.

“It’s getting late,” said Diana.

“It is,” David agreed, but neither of them moved. “I should...we should give our waiter a break. Head out.”

“Yes.” Diana stood, and David followed.

They thanked the restaurant staff and made their way outside, where the air had become pleasantly cool. David looked at Diana, wanting to say something, but not knowing what. She rescued him by speaking first.

“I’m having a lovely time, you know,” she said.

“So am I.”

“Would you like to...I don’t know, get a coffee somewhere? Or take a walk?”

“We could do both, actually, there’s a food truck that parks nearby.”

“That sounds perfect.”

David led the way to the food truck, where they ordered their coffees and waited under a streetlight for them. He had to try not to stare at her, because she somehow made even harsh, artificial lighting look like a halo. There it was again, that thought of _angel_ , as clear in his mind as if he’d said it aloud.

The night went on.

They sipped their coffees and strolled the streets of Boston, talking as easily as if they’d known each other all their lives. Diana was endlessly fascinating, so poised and lively and kind, kind in a way that came so naturally. It radiated from her like sunshine.

“Oh,” said Diana, sounding surprised when they turned a corner. “My hotel is on this street. I didn’t realize how far we had walked.”

“Neither did I,” said David truthfully. It was after midnight. The hours had passed in what felt like a heartbeat. “Are you...should we say goodnight?”

Something passed over Diana’s face, something David couldn’t read, but it was gone in an instant and replaced with another stunning smile.

“I think perhaps we should,” she said.

They walked toward her hotel, both of them walking noticeably slower than before, as though both were trying to extend their time together as much as possible. Both were quiet then, closer than before. Their hands nearly brushed as they walked. At the entrance to the hotel, Diana hesitated. David hesitated.

“I’d really like to see you again, but...I guess that might be tricky with an ocean between us,” said David at last. He didn’t bother to try and hide the regret in his voice. “But I had a really great time tonight.”

“So did I,” Diana whispered.

They hesitated again, excruciatingly, then David extended his hand to her. She took it, then leaned in and kissed his cheek, a soft, brief touch that made the world stop. His hand tightened around hers involuntarily. He stared at her, wanting to say the right thing but having no words. What on earth was happening to him? He’d known this woman for less than a day, but his mind kept whispering to him about loving her. Impossible. He must have been losing his mind. He must have been…

...suddenly kissing her, but not suddenly at all; rather, it had happened like a slow, inevitable thing, that magnetic pull from before bringing them together. It felt like the most right, most natural thing in the world. It could have lasted a second or a century for all he knew. The only thing he could be sure of was that it was over too soon, far too soon, their heads pressed together, eyes closed, both trying to catch their breath. Diana’s hand had released his and moved to his chest, where she could surely feel his heart hammering.

“Diana, I…” he started, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I can’t - I can’t,” said Diana, and David stepped back immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have - I’m sorry.”

“No. No, I don’t mean that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just...I can’t.”

"It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, it was just about the worst possible scenario. His brain and his body couldn’t keep up with each other, there was no oxygen left on the planet for him to breathe, he had just kissed Diana Prince and he would never get to again, and he was cursing himself for it. But he forced a smile.

“I, uh...I should get going,” he said with practiced ease. “Goodnight, Diana.”

“Goodnight,” she said.

Before he could make another mistake, David turned and began to walk away. He had made it ten paces before he heard Diana call out something strange.

“Steve Trevor,” she said, her voice strong with all the clarity of someone making a rash decision.

David stopped and turned, assuming he had misunderstood. “What?”

“Steve Trevor,” Diana said again, and now she was walking toward him.

“Who’s Steve Trevor?”

Diana looked pale now, but determined. “It’s you. Your name. Your real name.”

David’s heart fully stopped for a second, but he didn’t let on. “My real name is David Innes.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not David Innes, it’s not John Clayton, it’s not Tom Billings. It’s Steven Rockwell Trevor.”

He felt lightheaded. He stepped back from her. “What are you talking about?”

“Steve,” she spoke quickly then. “Please. Please listen to me. I know who you really are. Because I knew you then. During the Great War. You were a pilot. A spy. You were...you were my...it’s a very long story. But you have to believe me. Please.”

“How - you’re not -” he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. Words weren’t making sense. His face felt hot.

Diana was holding up her phone suddenly, the glow throwing him off. His eyes adjusted and he realized he was looking at a black and white photo, a slightly blurry picture of a man’s face. It was his face. It was a picture he’d never seen, didn’t remember ever posing for, but it was him. His eyes widened and he looked at Diana’s face. She zoomed out on the photo, revealing several other men and a woman, a tall and fierce woman, a woman in armor with a beautiful face -

“Oh, God.”

He stumbled back another step, staring at her, going from the photo to her face. He became vaguely aware of her hand on his arm and he realized she was holding him up. He must have swayed, because he was certainly dizzy.

“Steve. It’s okay,” she was whispering, but it was like the words were reaching his brain on a delay. “It’s okay. I’m here. Let’s...let’s go inside. Let’s sit and talk. Please.”

He couldn’t breathe. His hands were shaking. Diana was pressing something into his palm, something small and plastic, but he couldn’t even look at it to see what it was. He knew she was saying something else, but he kept shaking his head. Without making the decision to do so, he turned and started walking away.

“Steve!”

He paused for only a second when she called to him, paused and nearly stopped, but sped up, walking in the wrong direction, trying to move faster than the sense of panic threatening to completely overtake him, trying to move faster than the weight of an uncovered century could press the air from his lungs.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Diana, 2018

_ “Steve!” she called, even though she knew he wasn’t going to turn back. Even though she knew he was going to keep running toward that plane.  _

_ “Steve!” she called, even though she knew he wasn’t going to turn back. Even though she knew she had just dropped a bombshell on him.  _

_ She watched, helpless, as he ran from her on that airfield toward his death.  _

_ She watched, helpless, as he ran from her on that Boston street into the night. _

Diana’s eyes opened as she gasped, her heart racing. She had been having the same dream for twelve nights, ever since she had tried to tell Steve who he really was, ever since he ran from her, ever since she lost him again. She had not heard from him, and neither had Bruce. Apparently, Steve had called into work and decided to use all the vacation days he had saved up over the past few years. No one knew when he would be back, and no one had spoken to him. She had hoped at first, thought that perhaps after the shock had worn off that he might reach out. She stayed in Boston for two more days, mostly keeping to her hotel room, pacing along the parquet floor, waiting for her phone to ring or for a knock at the door that did not come. 

Her return to Paris had been a melancholy one. Bruce had invited her to spend some time at the manor, but she preferred to get back to her life. She arrived long before the museum opened and stayed well into the evening, and she came in during the weekend as well. Sylvie was obviously confused and concerned, and she even offered to stay late as well, but Diana wouldn’t hear of it. And, if she were really honest with herself, she wanted to be alone. Somehow it was easier, easier to focus on work and nothing else if she were on her own, to put on her headphones and play the book she had been listening to while she worked on restoring a sculpture, to eat by herself, to take the long route home and walk instead of drive. 

At home, she also worked. Some for the League, some for the Louvre. She only opened her work e-mail and her secured e-mail for League operations, not her personal account. She answered Bruce’s check-in text evenly, she texted with Lois and Clark, she answered Barry’s frankly adorable pleas for advice about what to wear on a date, but she did not speak with anyone over the phone unless it was for business. She did not tell anyone else about Boston, about Steve. She did not try to talk about it with Bruce any further.

It was easier.

The problem, though, was that she did need to sleep. Not as much as humans, but she still needed it, and it could not be avoided forever. And when she slept, she replayed everything in her mind. Seeing Steve for the first time on Themyscira, seeing him again after a hundred years. Kissing him in Veld, kissing him in Boston. Seeing him run away from her toward his death, seeing him run away from her in shock. The events blurred, until she couldn’t tell them apart, until Steve on the airfield was fleeing from her for telling him who he really was, until Steve in Boston was running off to die. She woke each time with an aching chest and wet eyes, hands shaking, cheeks hot, a sickly feeling in her stomach. 

And then she pushed it all away and went to work. 

A coffee and a croissant. A chapter of a book. An ancient sculpture. Business e-mails. Business calls. Work. Catching up with Sylvie after the weekend. Work. Headphones. Another chapter. Lunch. Work. Diana leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She was tired, there was no denying it, and it was getting to her. A gentle knock at her office door startled her, and that was another sign that the cracks might be starting to show, that the facade wouldn’t last much longer. 

“Come in,” she called, sitting up straight.

Sylvie entered with a little frown. “There’s someone here to see you, Mademoiselle. He doesn’t have an appointment, but I thought since it was so close to the end of the day…”

“Who is it?” Diana asked, standing and smoothing her dress. 

Sylvie looked down at her notepad. “Steve Trevor.”

In an instant, Diana felt many things. Certain she had misheard, certain it was a coincidence, certain that it was the cruelest joke, a little dizzy, the color draining from her face, her heart skipping a beat, and a squeeze of her chest. The next instant, she had managed to get herself under control. Obviously, she was exhausted and preoccupied and this was the result. She cleared her throat. 

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Steve Trevor?” Sylvie repeated, this time sounding unsure. “He says you know each other.”

Diana walked past Sylvie and out the door of her office, leaving the confused young woman behind her without another word. Sitting there on the bench in the hall, elbows on his knees, sat Steve Trevor in the flesh. He looked up when Diana walked closer, but he did not stand. He looked terrible. They stared at each other for a moment, until Diana became aware of Sylvie cautiously stepping up to them. 

“Would you like coffee?” Sylvie offered, clearly not sure what to make of the situation. Here was the second strange American man to turn up at Diana’s office, insisting he knew her and asking to see her, in recent history. Sylvie deserved a raise. “Or tea, maybe?”

“Coffee, please, Sylvie. Thank you. And then you can go,” said Diana, composing herself. 

Sylvie hurried off, and Steve finally stood up. He seemed unsteady on his feet. Again, they just looked at each other for a moment, neither knowing what to say. Steve spoke first, his voice ragged. 

“I’m sorry to just turn up like this. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m glad you’re here, but...you came all this way?”

“I didn’t want to do this over the phone. Can we…?”

Diana nodded and led Steve into her office, where they both sat on the same side of the desk. Sylvie arrived with coffee for them, then said her goodbyes and left them to it. Steve drank half his coffee before he spoke again. 

“When I ran off that night, I didn’t...I didn’t mean to just…” he started, but he trailed off, making a vague gesture with one hand.

“It’s all right.”

“I don’t even remember how I got home. I didn’t realize what you’d handed me until I walked through the door,” said Steve, fishing the flash drive Diana had pressed to his hand that night out of his pocket. “I read the whole thing.”

Diana closed her eyes, just briefly. Before she had gone to Boston, she had spent some time editing the file Bruce had sent her. She had added details of Steve’s early life, things she had learned on her own, from making her way to his hometown in Indiana to visit his grave and speaking to those who knew him, from what Charlie, Chief, Sammy, and Etta had learned in their years working together. She had also written an account of their time together, from the moment he crash-landed in the waters of her childhood to the moment she thought she had lost him forever. When she had added all of this to the file, she had imagined them going over it all together, talking it through, Diana taking her time to answer any questions she could. She hadn’t thought she would have just shoved over a century’s worth of information at him and let him run away with it, then abandoned him to figure it all out for himself, and she felt a bit sick at the thought of it. 

“So. You know everything about me,” Steve went on, turning the flash drive over in his hands. “More than I do.”

“You don’t remember anything? Nothing at all?” asked Diana. 

“No. Or - or I didn’t. Before. I’ve had little blips here and there since I read all that. A couple of things that maybe I remember, or maybe I just think I do.”

He let out a breath and rubbed at his eyes. He clearly hadn’t slept in days, and Diana’s heart ached for him. 

“I’ve spent a hundred years not knowing anything about myself. I didn’t know where to begin, so...so I didn’t. I would start trying to figure it out, then I’d give up. Over and over and over again. I couldn’t go to anyone, I couldn’t just walk up to someone and say ‘oh hey, so I haven’t aged in decades and I can heal from things that should kill me and I have no idea who I am, want to help me investigate?’, I couldn’t research, I couldn’t...I just gave it up after a while. Completely. Tried to move on.”

“And then I showed up and threw all the answers at you without warning,” Diana said softly. 

“Yeah. But...I’m glad you did.”

That surprised Diana, and she knew it showed on her face. 

“I mean, you know, it was a little brutal, but...I guess there’s no right way to tell anyone what you told me,” Steve went on. “I just...I’ve spent so long having no clue and lying to anyone I cared about. Knowing now...knowing the truth...it’s surreal.”

He stood then, nervous, exhausted energy so strong rolled off of him like heat waves off a hot road. Diana watched as he paced around her office, fiddling with the flash drive in his hand again. She stayed quiet, letting him take his time gathering his thoughts. 

“When you walked into my work that day, I thought...well, I thought a few things all at once. I wondered who you were, but I had this weird sense of...I don’t know what. Not deja vu, not a memory or anything, just this strange sense that I’d seen you somewhere before. I thought maybe you just reminded me of someone and that’s all it was. Some celebrity or something, an actor or a model maybe, and that’s why you seemed familiar. But I also just knew it wasn’t that, because yours is not a face anyone’s going to forget anytime soon, and if I had ever seen anyone before who even slightly resembled you, I don’t think it would be hard to remember.”

He turned to look at Diana then, and the expression on his face made it clear that he had not meant to share quite that much. He cleared his throat and went on. 

“I also, when we we were walking together that night, after we...when we were saying goodnight, I thought - and I know how this sounds - but for a second I thought  _ I love her _ . Which makes no sense, I know, but-”

“It makes sense,” Diana whispered. 

Steve fell quiet then, confused, and waited for her.

“I...gave you an incomplete account of our time together. It was so brief. A few days, really. Just a blink. But we had a connection to each other, right from the start. A loyalty. And...and an attraction.”

Steve blinked at her a few times. “Were we…”

“Before you died, you told me you loved me,” said Diana, her voice still very soft. “I did not have the chance to say it back. In fact, much of what I said to you on that last day was hurtful.”

It had been an old shame she had carried through the years, the ways she had shouted at Steve, blamed him for so much, pushed him away. She could remember every detail of the hurt in his eyes, the desperation in his voice, the way he had reached for her only to be knocked back. He had gone to his death never knowing just what he meant to her, never knowing how she had forgiven him and how she would have apologized if she had been given the chance. How she would have told him - and showed him - that she loved him in return. 

“I don’t remember,” said Steve at last. 

“What’s the first thing you do remember?” 

Steve winced a little, and for a moment Diana regretted asking. 

“I woke up covered in burns. I felt like...like I was being put back together a little at a time. Like I had been pulled apart. Which, now that I know what caused it, makes sense. I don’t know how long it took, but eventually I was able to move. Find my way to the nearest town. I got some help.”

If Diana’s heart had ached before, it began to splinter then. Thinking of him like that, lost and terrified and in excruciating pain, made her want to reach out and wrap him up in her arms. She stayed where she was and listened as he went on.

“That sort of thing has happened a lot over the years. I’ve gotten hurt and then gotten better faster than I should have. Broken bones, burns, even got stabbed once and got over it like it was a stubbed toe. It never made sense. It still doesn’t, really, but...I guess at least I know I didn’t just appear one day out of nowhere. Maybe there’s some explanation.”

“I have friends who may be able to help. People with vast knowledge. Resources,” Diana said, chancing stepping a little closer to him. “If you want, I can help you to find the answers. I can try.”

Steve nodded, then closed his eyes, and for a second Diana thought he might be falling asleep on his feet. She wouldn’t have been surprised, given the state he was in. She stepped in again. 

“Steve,” she said carefully. “When is the last time you got any sleep?”

He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to focus them again. “I don’t even know.”

“Where are you staying? I’ll take you there. You need to rest.”

“I’m not staying anywhere. I mean, I didn’t - I got off the plane and came straight here. My bag is in the hallway. I just...didn’t want to waste any time.”

“You could stay with me. If you like.”

He stared at her for a minute, like he couldn’t make sense of what she just said, then he nodded again. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

“It might be easier. We could keep talking about everything.”

“Okay,” he said, the hoarseness in his voice dropping to a whisper. 

Without another word, Diana gathered her things and placed a careful hand on Steve’s shoulder, guiding him out. She picked up his bag from the hallway, and they walked together out of the museum. Steve was practically sleepwalking by the time they climbed into a cab, and Diana could tell he was starting to fade. Fortunately, she lived close by car, and her building had an elevator, small mercies for Steve. She guided him to her room and closed the curtains. 

“It’s your bedroom,” he mumbled, as though he had only just realized it. 

“It is. Please, don’t argue, just get some sleep. I’ll be right in the next room, I promise.”

If the situation was in any way strange or uncomfortable to Steve, he gave no indication. Perhaps he was too tired to care. Whatever the case, he kicked off his shoes and climbed into her bed without protest, moving slowly and more or less collapsing onto the pillow. Diana moved silently out of the room and closed the door behind her. 

The moment the latch closed, it all hit her at once. Steve had returned to her life again. Steve was there, in her apartment, in her bed, fast asleep. Steve could start to get the answers he clearly, desperately wanted, the answers he had given up on so long ago. And Diana...Diana could see him. Touch him. Speak with him. Maybe even make amends to him. She covered her mouth with her hand and finally, after so many days, let herself feel what she had been trying not to. She finally let herself cry. 

She had cried for Steve many times over the years, but that day, at least some of the tears were from relief. Maybe even a little joy. And, certainly, quite a few were tears of gratitude. 

They had another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect to update again so soon, but I was in the flow. The story is still creeping along slowly, I know, but expect things to pick up a bit more in the next chapter. Thank you all so much for reading and for your kind comments. It means the world to me!


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Steve, 2018

He woke with a jolt and a cry, twisted up in sheets he did not recognize in a place he did not know. It was dark and quiet there, no sound of the noisy city of Boston outside, no thump of Miranda’s tail against the mattress. The air even smelled different, like diffused oils and powder and fresh herbs. Were he not in such a panic at not knowing where he was, it might have been very pleasant.

“Steve?” a low, gentle voice called.

He scrambled out of the bed and stumbled, disoriented, as the door to the room opened and a lamp was thrown on. He blinked in the sudden light and saw someone standing near him, reaching out. A cool hand touched his arm.

“Diana,” he breathed.

“That’s right. You’re okay. Do you remember where you are?”

“I’m...Paris. I’m in Paris. Your apartment,” said Steve as it started to come back to him. “What time is it?”

“You slept for a long time. About thirteen hours. It’s early morning here, a little after 6:00.” Diana spoke in a soothing tone, the kind of tone Steve would use on Miranda at the vet to keep her from being nervous. “How do you feel?”

“Groggy, mostly.”

“I’ll make some coffee. Are you hungry?”

He was, in fact, he realized. Over the past week and a half he had barely eaten a thing, and even when he had, it had been at odd hours. Now that he had gotten some real sleep, it was like the rest of his body was starting to come back online, and he could feel the emptiness in his stomach. He nodded, and Diana gave his arm the gentlest squeeze.

“Why don’t you wash up? Take your time. The shower is just through that door,” she said kindly.

Still a little dazed, Steve nodded again. “Okay.”

Diana left him to go prepare some food, and Steve moved on autopilot to the bathroom. He stood under the hot shower for a few minutes before even attempting to wash up. He felt a little steadier after the shower, a little closer to human, but when he got a look at himself in the mirror it was a bit of a shock. He had known he must have looked like a mess, but Diana’s tall mirrors and clear lighting really showed him just how bad it was. The circles under his eyes looked like bruises, he was pale, and he badly needed a shave. He realized he hadn’t packed a razor. He couldn’t even think if he’d actually packed a decent outfit or if he’d just thrown whatever he could reach into his bag. Thankfully he’d shown quite a bit more care when it came to his dog, getting his nice neighbor down the hall to agree to take care of Miranda until he got back. He did his best to clean himself up, put on some clothes, and went to join Diana.

She had laid out quite a spread in the short time he had been in the shower: fruit salad, croissants, scrambled eggs, yogurt, and a press full of coffee. His eyebrows raised as he looked at the table, and as he got a real look at her apartment for the first time. The place was light and airy and elegant, and she fit right in, as meant to be there as the original crown molding and the ironwork on the terrace. Steve felt a bit like a tacky lampshade by comparison. Even so, when Diana saw him approach, she smiled at him, and some of his misgivings melted away despite himself.

“I wasn’t sure what you might like for breakfast. Have as much or as little as you like,” she said, setting a plate in front of one of the chairs.

“Did we never eat breakfast together back in the day?” asked Steve.

“We ate together several times, but no real meals. Just whatever we could, when we could. The closest thing was when Chief gave us some rations and made us all choke down some pine needle tea. He insisted it would keep us healthy. Charlie said he’d rather risk a cold and have whiskey instead.”

Even though he couldn’t remember Charlie, Steve found himself smiling a bit at the anecdote. He added milk to his coffee and looked at Diana, who had a dreamy expression on her face that made all those “kiss her, you fool” feelings return with a vengeance.

“And you bought me an ice cream,” she added. “My very first. I had never tried anything quite like it. I still have quite a fondness for it.”

“I did that? Really?” Steve asked as he started to load up his plate.

“You did. It was very sweet of you.”

“I wish I could remember.”

“You will.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I’d like to think the universe can recognize that you have been through enough, and you are owed at least your memories.”

Steve bit into a croissant and fell quiet for a moment, in part because it was just about the tastiest thing he’d ever tried, and in part because Diana had rested her hand on his forearm.

“I will tell you anything you want to know, if I can. You can ask me anything, Steve, all right?” she said, her eyes dark and sincere in the morning light.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You don’t have to until you’re ready. We can do whatever you need.”

She was looking at him with such sweetness, such a tender smile, it made him relax a bit more, but he stayed quiet and ate another few bites. Diana took a breath.

“I do want to say one thing,” she said, pulling her hand away but leaning closer. “If I had known...if I had known you were alive, that you were out there, or if I had even thought for a second that it was a possibility…”

“Hey. Don’t do that to yourself. I don’t blame you,” said Steve.

“No?”

“No. Look, you...you didn’t abandon me. You didn’t turn your back on me or leave me. I was dead. I really was. Of course you didn’t think there was some chance I was still alive. People don’t just die and come back, right?”

Diana started to reply to that, then changed her mind and shook her head. “No, I suppose not. Not usually.”

“So you’re off the hook, okay?”

Her eyes searched his, perhaps for any sign he didn’t mean it. Finding none, she nodded and relaxed a little.

“Okay, I thought of some questions,” Steve said after a few quiet minutes.

Diana was true to her word and answered everything he asked: questions about everything from his hometown (she had visited plenty of times over the decades, to tend to his grave and those of his family since there was no one else to do it), to what she had gotten up to over the years (“You’ve traveled every inch of this globe, huh?”), to what someone like her could possibly have seen in someone like him (“If I began to make a list, we would be here for a very long time”). They sat at the table for several hours that morning, until the sun was high in the sky and dazzlingly bright over the city.

Diana went to make more coffee and Steve started to wander around the apartment a bit, stopping here and there to look at certain things. She had enough books to open a library, it seemed, and her floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were stuffed beyond capacity. Steve peered closer to see what kinds of things she liked best to read, but it seemed that the answer must be “absolutely everything”. Diana owned books on every topic imaginable, from historical fiction to crochet patterns. Even more impressive than her book collection was her art collection, and Steve’s eyes went wide when he noticed a Matisse hanging on a far wall. He supposed it made sense, that someone as refined as her with that kind of access to art would own quite a bit, but it still sent him reeling a bit.

He was looking at a large, vibrant painting when Diana returned. The more he looked, the more seemed to be happening in it, and maybe he didn’t know much about art but there was something special about this piece. Diana set down the coffee and joined him, gazing at it as well.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said after a moment. “So full of life.”

“It is. I mean, I’m no expert, but it does make you feel something, you know?” Steve agreed. “Who’s the artist?”

“Her name was Halina. She was...very important to me.”

Steve looked at her. “Were you together?”

“For a while.”

There was a new sadness in Diana’s voice then, and Steve didn’t push it by asking more. Maybe someday she’d tell him, when and if she was ready. Then he realized he was thinking about a “someday” with Diana, and when did that happen? It felt so natural to assume there would be a someday, that there could be a someday years or even decades down the road when they might talk about new things. That sense of connection to her served to ground him a bit, and when he looked back at the painting, he smiled a little.

“It reminds me of something,” he says, stepping closer. “I don’t know what, but...something.”

“It reminds me of my home,” Diana said quietly.

“Themy...thingy?”

“Themyscira, yes. The sea there was the clearest, the brightest you can imagine. A thousand shades of blue and green. When the sun set over it, it seemed like it was on fire. Under moonlight, it sparkled silver. And all those colors are here, in this painting, just as I remember them from home.”

Diana’s voice was hypnotic as she gazed at the painting, and Steve found he couldn’t manage to reply, he was so captivated.

“When I pulled you from the water, when you first looked at me, I saw the sea of Themyscira in your eyes. And I see it now, too,” Diana went on, and she looked at him then. “I spent a long time trying to remember the right shade of blue, but I could never quite get it.”

Steve felt his cheeks turn hot, and the slightest tug of memory played at his heart. Something about standing so close to Diana, speaking so softly with her, a moment of intimacy in the middle of a whirlwind, made him feel as though someone were shouting at him through thick glass, telling him something vital that he could not quite make out. It simultaneously gave him hope and frustrated him endlessly. Diana must have seen it, because she turned to face him fully.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“I just...it feels like I’m close to something, but I can’t figure out what, or how to get to it. It’s like my whole brain is a maze or something,” he said, running a hand over his face.

“Come sit. Come talk. We’ll keep trying,” Diana offered, and when she took his hand to lead him to the sofa, that sense of calm returned to Steve right away.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he could remember. Someday.

***

He began to remember.

At first, it was just small things, very small. An image of his mother in their kitchen, blonde hair tucked under a kerchief, laughing as he snuck a slice of apple from a bowl. The sound of his father’s voice as he sang while he worked in the barn, rich and sonorous. The feel of the heavy quilt that used to belong to his grandmother. The scent of pine and smoke and baking bread that seemed ever-present in the wintertime on the farm. Each minute revelation brought with it a rush of hope and an ache of longing for more.

He spent several days with Diana doing little more than talking themselves hoarse. Diana had plenty of questions of her own, about what Steve had gotten up to over the years, things that didn’t make it into the file. He noticed that she refrained from asking about the time he spent in the hospital, and he was grateful, because he still found it painful to think about even decades later. He’d tell her all about it someday, but not yet.

Diana wanted to know all about his friends, his dog, places he’d lived. She teased him a bit about his time in northern California (“Look, longer hair was the thing then. Blame fashion, not me”), she listened with sparkling eyes as he described how he drove all across the southwest, working odd jobs for a while, she poured them both wine and laughed as he told her about the time he’d tried to impress a date by taking her out on a rowboat, only to lose the oars and have to jump into the water after them. He wanted to make her laugh a thousand more times.

They slept in the same bed at night, because neither wanted to kick the other to the couch and because neither wanted to be too far away from the other for too long. The third night, there was still a respectable, chaste distance between them, and Steve had his first flash of a memory that involved Diana, of them sleeping beside each other on a boat under the stars. Diana had been delighted when he told her, and she took her turn to make him laugh by telling him all about how she’d burst his bubble about the necessity of men in sexual situations. He had blushed then, too, and then he remembered something again. He remembered a feeling, a rush of affection toward her as she, in all her fierce innocence, had sworn she could make the world better.

It was that feeling that led him to lean in and kiss her.

It felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...appear to be on some kind of roll. I couldn't say why or whether it's going to continue, but until I hit a writer's block, I'm gonna keep cranking out the chapters as quickly as possible!
> 
> For those who care about this sort of thing: incoming reunion sex in the next chapter.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Diana, 2018

Their first and only time together had left Diana breathless, wondering, exhilarated, surprised, and about a hundred other things that, when pieced together, created a mosaic of warm love in her heart. Her admiration and affection for Steve had been present from the moment they met, but after experiencing something like that, she felt a glowing connection to him, as though that night their hearts had been bound by some unseen thread. That dim little room in Veld had become a haven, just for the night, a place entirely removed from everything beyond its walls. Though it could not have been further removed from the idyllic shores of Themyscira or from the palatial rooms she once occupied, that night, in that room, in that bed, she had found home again in Steve’s arms.

In the hundred years since that night, home had been a fleeting notion, and she had settled over and over again for the next best thing. She lived in considerable comfort, and she loved her apartment, but the best views of Paris and luxury furnishings did not a home make. There had been times - moments, really, in the grand scheme of things - when she felt that sense of home again, when she felt such great love and joy in a certain place that it felt like it had been stitched into the pillows and hung from the curtain rods. But it had never lasted, not for long, and “home” had always faded into “house” or “flat” or “apartment” again.

Such was the case with her Paris apartment, until the night Steve turned to her in her bed and kissed her late one night, his lips still stretched with a smile.

Diana’s heart leapt, and she responded immediately, pressing a hand to his cheek and kissing him back with all the enthusiasm of a century of missing him. If he was surprised by it, he didn’t let on, instead pulling her even closer and kissing her more deeply. Diana let herself get lost in it, let herself kiss and be kissed until she lost any track of time or place. It felt like a dream.

She was dizzy by the time they leaned back from each other, both needing to catch their breaths and attempt to slow their hearts. The hand Steve had tangled into her hair was shaking a bit, and she reached for it, concerned for him.

“I’m okay,” he murmured. “I’m fine, it’s just...I think I remember some of this.”

“Do you?” Diana whispered.

“I think so. I think…”

“Tell me what you remember.”

Steve started to play with her hand, lacing his fingers through hers as he spoke.

“I remember I was going to leave. But I think you asked me to stay?”

Diana nodded. “Not with words, but I did.”

“And I remember, um...I think I remember you said something about my scars?”

“That’s right. You were a bit embarrassed by them, as I recall.”

“Was I?”

“A bit. I think I might have changed your mind, though,” said Diana, letting a playful smile cross her lips, which made Steve’s cheeks flush. He cleared his throat. “I was fascinated, looking at you so closely.”

His eyes kept flicking back down to her mouth, apparently unconsciously. Diana’s smile grew, and she pulled him in for another kiss. Dark though the night was, she felt as though they could have lit the whole city. A hundred years had passed, and yet not one second of it had dimmed them. She felt his hand tighten around hers, felt his thumb tracing back and forth as he kissed her, felt the rise of his want and need and desire as she felt her own. She was dizzy with it. Steve pulled back first this time, and Diana felt him shifting his position a bit. She could also feel why he was shifting. She placed her other hand on his hip, gently, to stop him from moving away. His eyes met hers, a little startled, and he inched closer to her.

“Diana, I...I’m…it’s just...” he stammered, and Diana couldn’t help smiling. She had missed that nervous tic of his so much. “I don’t want you to feel like we have to, um...anything.”

Diana cocked her head at him. “Did I give the impression that I’m not enjoying myself?”

“Well, no, but...I mean, it’s been a long time.”

“Oh, you haven’t been…?”

“Huh? OH,” Steve said, when he realized her misunderstanding. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Well, I mean, yeah, it actually has been a little while for me, but that’s not...I mean _us_ , for us, the two of us together, it’s been...forever, as far as I’m concerned, you know?”

“I understand,” said Diana, smoothing back his hair from his face and letting her hand linger on his brow. “And we do not have to do anything at all, if you don’t want.”

“No, I...I mean, I want, I do, I just...I don’t know what I’m trying to say. My brain doesn’t work right around you.”

Diana laughed, and Steve chuckled as well. She had missed that particular smile of his so much, that slightly self-deprecating grin that went slightly crooked, that made his eyes crinkle and shine, even in the dimness.

“I guess I’m trying to say...I didn’t come here with any expectations, and just because I’ve got this thing where I’m going from zero to 100 with how I feel about you, I can’t ask you to just snap your fingers and feel the same way after so long,” Steve said after a moment, looking at their joined hands.

Diana watched him for a moment, then she slowly sat up. Steve looked confused, but stayed quiet, following her with his eyes as she walked to her closet. She reached up to the highest shelf and pulled down a small, locked box, then brought it over to the bed. She turned on the bedside lamp and sat back down on the bed, reached into her nightstand drawer for the key, and opened the box.

“Come look,” she softly invited Steve.

He moved a little closer, frowning slightly as he waited to see what this was all about. Diana lifted a small, fabric-wrapped parcel out and opened it to show Steve its contents.

“Do you remember this?” she asked.

Steve took the old watch and looked at it closely, then shook his head.

“This belonged to your father. You were wearing it when we first met, and you gave it to me before you went onto the plane,” Diana said, watching him closely for any sign of a memory. She had waited to show him the watch, worrying initially that it might have brought on memories too overwhelming, but now Steve was just silently staring at it. “I’ve held onto it all this time.”

Steve turned the watch over and ran his thumb over the back, over the leather strap, but he did not look back up at Diana.

“I have some other things,” she went on, waiting for his nod to continue.

Over the years, she had gathered a small collection of mementos. Etta’s bound diary pages, a few photos, a roughly-carved toy wooden horse from Steve’s childhood home, a patch he had once worn on a jacket, and a few articles about events that had touched them. There was a research paper someone had written for a college course and later posted online about the legend of the Angels of Mons, which had more than a few references to Diana in it. A newspaper clipping had also been saved, one detailing the erection of a small monument to the people of Veld who had lost their lives in the gas attack. One last article spoke of the WWI veterans being honored in a simple, lovely ceremony that Diana had attended. Etta had been asked to give a short speech that day, to talk about Steve’s sacrifice, and she had done so beautifully. Finally, protected in a small case, the photo of Diana, Steve, Charlie, Chief, and Sammy, that strange little band of fighters looking proud and weary at once.

Steve looked at each item with that same silence, and Diana did not press him. She waited with the kind of patience that comes with immortality, quiet and still and unobtrusive. Finally, after many minutes, he lifted his head and looked at her.

“I remember doing the shield thing. Lifting you so you could get the sniper,” he said, speaking very slowly and carefully, as though afraid any sudden movement might frighten the memory away. “I remember thinking maybe you might have gotten hurt. Or worse. And I remember when I saw you standing at the top of all that rubble, I couldn’t stay on my own feet.”

This was not something Diana had seen, not something she could have told him. This was a  memory returning to him all on its own. She reached out a hand and held his.

“I just...dropped down, you know? Right onto my knees. I guess I was part-exhausted and part-relieved. I think it was Chief who helped me back up,” Steve continued.

“You remember that?” Diana whispered.

“Yeah, I...I guess I do.”

His disbelieving smile was infectious. He began to set the items back into the lockbox, still looking slightly dazed, but pleased. When it came time to put away his father’s watch, he hesitated, and Diana pushed it toward him.

“This belongs to you, Steve. It all does, really, but especially this,” she said. “And if you would like it back, I will happily return it.”

Steve shook his head. “I gave it to you for a reason. And you’ve kept it safe for all this time. I want you to hang onto it for me, if that’s okay. At least for now.”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

He wrapped the watch back up and set it into the box, which Diana put away before rejoining Steve on the bed. Again, he was quiet for a moment, processing all of this. Diana’s hand remained on his, a gentle anchor against the tide of memories. Steve covered her hand with his other, and they just sat like that for a moment, until the pull between them was just too strong and they could not stay apart any longer.

She’d had plenty of lovers over the years, but she had never, never felt anything quite like it was with Steve. It was so easy to get swept up in him, in the blurry lines of past and present and dreams and reality. She felt his hand drift along the hem of her shirt, fingertips just barely grazing her skin, and the shuddery breath she took was entirely involuntary. He looked at her then, his eyes so dark and impossible in the lamplight, and there was a very different kind of smile on his face.

Suddenly there was no hesitation between them, no shyness, as though the last thin curtain separating them had been torn down. There was a sureness to Steve’s touch that felt so new and yet so familiar, and before Diana knew it she had taken off her shirt and let it fall to the floor. Steve began to kiss down her neck and across her collarbone, kisses that made Diana sigh and grasp at his shoulders. He eased her back against the mattress, her head on the pillow, and his kisses began to trail all over her exposed skin. She felt goosebumps erupting all over, felt his tongue dart out to feel them, and she couldn’t help letting out a soft, throaty sound. Steve lifted his head at that and looked up at her.

“This okay?” he asked.

Diana nodded. “Yes. Yes, this is...yes.”

“Okay, good, because I’ve been thinking about this since Boston.”

Diana laughed, but before she could ask for specifics, Steve lowered his mouth down to her breasts, and she arched up toward him. He hummed against her skin, his hands gently squeezed at her waist, and she let herself just stop everything else and relish the feeling of Steve’s attention. He was entirely focused on her, as though nothing and no one existed outside that bed, and Diana felt herself drifting along with him. The rest of the world muted, stilled, dimmed, and Diana and Steve were their own universe for a while.

Steve’s hands wandered lower, to her legs. Diana felt him squeeze her thigh gently, and she smiled at the soft sound he made. She remembered the same fascination with her legs he had shown a hundred years before. Some things never change. She plucked at the collar of his t-shirt.

“May I?” she asked.

Steve nodded and sat up straighter, allowing Diana to pull off his shirt and let it join hers on the floor. Diana skimmed his skin with her eyes, comparing the sight to how he looked when they first met. He was just as strong and beautifully formed as he had always been, but in a different way Diana couldn’t put her finger on. She credited it to the fact that whatever exercise he did these days would be quite different than his activity during the war, and his diet entirely changed as well. Rather than long days trekking rough terrain, running, carrying uneven, heavy loads, and fighting, maybe now he went for jogs or swam or lifted weights in an air-conditioned gym. She reached out a hand and delicately touched a scar on his shoulder. Steve closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath.

“Do you remember how you got this?” Diana asked, watching his face.

He shook his head, eyes still closed.

“You told me that a shovel fell off of the wall in your barn when you were a child.”

He opened his eyes and glanced down at his shoulder. “I don’t remember it.”

Diana touched another scar, the one near his ribs that he had been embarrassed about so long ago. This time, he didn’t stop her or shy from her touch, didn’t lead her hand away. He just watched her as she drew her fingertips over the deep, long mark. Time had not faded any of these marks as it would have with anyone else.

“I never learned the story behind this one,” Diana murmured. “You didn’t tell me. Didn’t want me paying attention to it. I always wondered what had caused it.”

“If I remember, I’ll tell you,” said Steve, the promise clear in his voice.

She touched another scar, and another, and another. Some were large, some so tiny they were nearly invisible. A couple were clearly from a childhood case of chickenpox. Steve was still and quiet as she explored, his eyes trained on her, hungry for answers she could not give. A whole life’s story was etched onto him, from birth to death, anecdotes and history and memories in every mark, but only time and work and luck could reveal it to them. They would have to be patient and hopeful.

Diana smiled at him. “You have lived a life, Steve Trevor.”

He looked almost startled at that, blinking fast as he looked at her. Diana’s smile faded.

“Are you okay?” she asked, bringing her hand to his cheek.

“I...you said that before,” Steve whispered. “Back when...you said that before, didn’t you?”

“I did. You remember that?”

“Just that. Nothing else, but...yeah, I remember that.”

Diana’s face split into a grin that Steve cautiously reflected. He leaned forward and kissed her, kissed her until she was pressing as close to him as she could get. Steve pulled away just long enough to press his forehead to hers, to breathe her in for a moment, and then he was kissing her again. Diana yielded to him, letting him be the one to explore this time. In Veld, he had been so patient despite an obviously burning need, letting her look at and touch him, letting her enjoy the novelty of being with a man. This time, Diana knew Steve needed to be the one to acclimate himself, to marry the present with the memories just out of reach.

Their remaining clothes were slowly removed, the heat between them growing to a roaring fire, and when Steve settled between Diana’s legs and looked up at her with a question in his eyes, all she could do was nod, she was so breathless already. When Steve brought his mouth to her, her sigh felt as though it went through her whole body.

He took his time, working her up at a steady pace, his eyes occasionally opening to look up at her. Her fingers raked through his hair. Diana’s head tipped back when he pressed his tongue harder, dipped his fingers into her, and sighs became moans, moans became shuddering breaths, shuddering breaths became a cry and a gasp and a half-uttered declaration as she reached her peak. Steve did not rush her to come down, instead taking plenty of time to kiss his way up her body until he reached her forehead. He stroked her hair and looked down at her, a little flushed in the face and his eyes shining as though he had been the one receiving so much pleasure.

“I’ve also been thinking about that since Boston,” he said, smiling so playfully Diana couldn’t help laughing.

“You have had quite a lot on your mind these past two weeks or so,” Diana teased him.

“It has been a bit of a roller coaster, yes.”

“What else did you think about?” she asked as he stroked her hair.

His face turned pinker, and Diana laughed again.

“Maybe we should take it slow with the admitting of the fantasies,” said Steve. “I want to hang on to _some_ dignity.”

Diana pulled him down and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the warmth and happiness she felt. The moment he melted into her, pressed his body against hers, she brought her mouth to his ear and whispered.

“I thought about you many times over the years.”

Steve shivered a little at the feel of her breath against his skin. “You did?”

“Many times,” she repeated.

“What did you, uh...what did you think about?”

Diana hooked her leg over his hip and turned them, and then it was her turn to trail kisses all over him.

“I thought about this,” she said, pressing a kiss in the middle of his chest. “The way you felt against me. What it was like when you held me. How gently you touched me at first. What you looked like when the passion overtook you, when you let yourself go. I’ve thought about our night together during the war so many times through the years, I can replay it as clearly as if it were today.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “All that time, you still thought about me?”

“Steve,” said Diana, tracing the shape of his cheekbone with her fingers. “All that time, I still loved you.”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes then, but Diana did not ask what it was. Instead, she kissed him again, and again, and again, until neither could stand to wait any longer. She reached between them and took him in her hand, stroked him a few times, and then lifted her hips in order to take him inside her. The first time they did this had been more hesitant, so new to Diana. Years of experience had changed her approach, smoothed any rough edges, and their joining felt so natural it was as though not one minute had passed since the last time.

Diana leaned down and kissed him before moving, just a gentle rock of her hips that made his grip on her tighten. Despite the fire being stoked between them, Diana could not bear to rush, couldn’t stand the idea of making this go any faster. She wanted to live in this moment for as long as she could, wanted to be this close to Steve for as much time as possible. She felt him lift one hand to her hair and twine his fingers through the soft waves, looked down and saw the expression on his face, and she spoke as freely as if her lasso were wrapped around her wrist.

“You’re beautiful, Steve,” she whispered to him, and she placed one hand over his heart. “Beautiful here, too. I thought about - about your good heart so much.”

He kissed her, lifting up on one elbow to get a better angle. Diana could feel all the things he wanted to say in his kiss, all the words he couldn’t quite find, and she accepted them with a soft hum against his mouth. That hum turned to a sound of surprise when Steve wrapped his arms around her and rolled them so that she was on her back. Steve laced his fingers with hers, held her hand as he moved in her, deep and steady motions that drew low sounds from Diana. Steve dropped his mouth to her neck and kissed, the sensations practically lighting sparks against Diana’s skin.

“Angel,” Steve said, his voice sending vibrations along her. “I thought you were - when I first saw you. An angel.”

Neither could keep speaking after that, because Diana kissed Steve so completely that neither could bring themselves to draw back. Diana moved with him, in perfect harmony, until she could hear the strain in his breathing as he tried to hold out. She tilted her hips a bit, and she clung to Steve as the slight change in angle began to push her closer to the edge. She could feel the shudder through his body, the stutter of his hips, and the next thing she knew, there was nothing but the rush of pleasure sweeping through them both, and the mingling of their breaths and heartbeats and bodies into one.

***

Diana lay on her stomach, arms tucked under her pillow, watching Steve’s face as he traced his fingertips up and down the curve of her spine. The sun had just begun to peek through the curtains, and the city of Paris had awakened to a pink and gray dawn. Steve smiled at her, a quiet and gentle smile that made her feel a warm glow all over.

“I missed that smile,” she said, shifting on her pillow a bit to get a better view.

“This old thing? Just something I threw on,” Steve said, eyes sparkling playfully.

Diana turned onto her side and lifted her hand to trace over his lips. During the war, she had known Steve’s smile to be a rare but brilliant thing. He smiled regularly, but most often out of politeness or a desire to appear a certain way. His true smile was reserved for all his friends, but this smaller, gentler smile seemed to be only for Diana. She saw it first on the boat leaving Themyscira, again in the square in Veld, first thing the next morning, and one last time, just before he left her for what she had thought was forever. Seeing it again, in her bed, as sunlight slanted over his face, felt like the greatest gift she could receive.

They both had hundreds more questions for the other, and together they had hundreds of things to figure out. But for the moment, for that morning, they set it all aside. That morning was reserved only for love, as uncomplicated as it could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABOUT TIME, RIGHT??
> 
> One more chapter to go! I cannot thank you all enough for your devoted readership. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this story and all your kind words have made me feel so much more confident about my writing. I look forward to your reactions to this and to the epilogue to follow!


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I know I made y'all wait a long time for this, but I think when you see how long it is, you'll understand why. I wanted to give Steve and Diana a good, proper epilogue since I made them wait so long to find each other and...well...this is what happened. I considered making the epilogue an entirely separate fic, but then I thought, "go big or go home". So I went big. Really big. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

**Epilogue**

**January**

Memories returned steadily. Sometimes they came gently, just an easy stream of images, and sometimes they crashed into Steve’s mind like a tidal wave. He never knew when something would come back to him, or what might trigger it, but it had become normal to find himself jolting several times a day with a new thought, a moment of the life he had thought was lost occurring to him.

He had returned to Boston after almost a week in Paris, and his chest had ached when he and Diana said goodbye at the airport. He wanted to stay longer, but there were things to take care of at home, and he could at least take comfort in the fact that they were in contact almost constantly. They would text, call, or occasionally FaceTime or Skype if they were both home at the same time. Every time Steve heard Diana’s voice or saw her smile, love swelled in his heart all over again.

They made plans.

Steve was going to leave his job after the requisite two weeks, then he and Miranda would join Diana in Paris. They would be together. Start fresh. Start from a place of peace rather than war. Steve was sure that from the outside it looked like he had lost his mind - he was quitting a great job and packing up to move overseas with a woman he had known for a very short time. But he couldn’t care less what anyone thought, not when he knew Diana was waiting for his arrival. Not when things finally, finally started to make sense after so long. He had had a very long conversation with Bruce, in which he learned the truth about his connection with Diana and about Bruce’s role in the Justice League. He hadn’t been as shocked to learn that Bruce was Batman as Bruce might have been expecting, which Diana found endlessly amusing.

He sat on his bed one night, Skype open on his computer while he sorted through his wardrobe, deciding what to pack and what to donate. He would occasionally hold up an item to get Diana’s opinion, laughing at her reaction to some of his choices.

“Steve, I promise you, you will not need flip-flops in Paris,” she insisted as amusement lit her eyes.

“They’re so _comfortable_ , though,” Steve whined.

“Steve.”

“Okay, okay, fine, no flip-flops. But that means I’m keeping the blue cardigan.”

“I have no objections to the blue cardigan.”

“You made a face.”

“You misinterpreted that face,” Diana said with a little wink. “Oh, wait a minute. Bruce is calling me. Hold on.”

“Sure thing.”

Steve waited as Diana stepped aside to take the call, taking a break from packing to scratch Miranda’s belly. When Diana returned, she was grinning.

“Good news?” Steve asked.

“That depends on whether you think me flying out in a few days and picking you up to take you with me to Gotham is good news.”

Steve’s heart leapt. “Really?”

“Bruce wants to test a theory about your healing and lack of aging, and he thought it might be a good idea to introduce you to the League.”

“The...the League. As in all of them?”

“That’s right.”

“But I’m not...I mean, I’m just…”

Diana smiled patiently. “You did express interest in doing work with us, yes?”

“Right.”

“Well, then. You might like to meet your potential coworkers.”

Steve’s head was spinning a bit. Certainly, he had realized the possibility of meeting the other members of the League was high, considering his relationship with Diana, but it seemed awfully soon. It was a lot of trust for Diana and Bruce to put in him, and he didn’t want to take that for granted. Diana seemed to know what he was worried about, and she leaned closer to the camera.

“Steve,” she said gently. “You know you have my full trust. And if you have mine, you have Bruce’s, and if you have that, you will have the rest of the League’s.”

“Yeah?”

“I know it.”

Her faith in him seemed entirely unshakable, and for what felt like the millionth time in recent history he found himself wondering what he had ever done to deserve it.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Well, then, I guess I’m in for the superhero potluck.”

***

Steve had seen some images of Wayne Manor here and there over the years. Probably everyone had. It was a famous place owned by a famous man, and had been featured in the media plenty of times. He knew it was huge, knew it was the home of a billionaire, so he figured he knew what to expect when he arrived.

He was wrong.

He had expected more of a _Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous_ vibe from the place, more opulence and irritatingly, unnecessarily expensive displays of wealth. Ugly golden fountains and stark white interiors, the usual rich person aesthetic. What Wayne Manor actually was...was oddly cozy.

It was all dark wood and tall windows, some with stained glass, and it felt more like the sort of place Mary Lennox might be spotted roaming around than anywhere a Real Housewife would set foot. It was strangely easy to imagine Bruce as a child, hiding in secret corners, staring up at the exquisite works of art lining the walls, tiptoeing down to the kitchens after bedtime. Even Miranda, who Bruce had graciously extended his invitation to include, seemed to fit right in, as though the single thing missing from the elegant place had been a sheepdog all along.

The other thing that surprised Steve was Alfred Pennyworth, a formal but very personable man who introduced himself as Bruce’s butler and insisted on addressing Steve as “Captain Trevor”. Miranda took a shine to Alfred right away, and Alfred tolerated her with the air of someone who was fine with dogs but preferred cats.

Bruce was still at work when they had arrived, so Alfred showed them to a bedroom that made Steve’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline when he got a look at the view. Alfred chuckled a bit at Steve’s reaction.

“You must come back in the warmer months. The gardens are quite lovely then,” the older man said, responding to Miranda’s nudges with a patient pat on her head.

“Pretty spectacular in this weather, too,” Steve muttered, gazing out at the old stone covered in a thin dusting of snow, the ivy creeping along the walls.

Diana stepped close to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, her smile warmer than the cheery fire crackling across the room.

“Do take your time to get settled. I will make some lunch,” said Alfred, leaving with a little bow of his head to Miranda’s dismay.

Steve looked around a bit more. “This place is…” he trailed off and whistled.

“It’s very beautiful,” Diana agreed.

“Does everyone in the League live in gorgeous, expensive houses? Do I need to step it up?”

Diana laughed. “Not at all. We all come from very different backgrounds. That’s part of why we work well together. We have balance.”

Steve smiled as she tipped her head against his shoulder. They stood that way for a while, watching the light snowfall and listening to the fire. Listening to each other breathe.

***

“ _Ow_ , damn it,” Steve grumbled.

“Of all the things I’ve learned about you, the most surprising is what a baby you are about needles,” Diana teased.

“I am not a _baby_ , it’s just that _someone_ can’t hit a vein.”

“Quit whining or I’ll miss on purpose,” Bruce said without looking up. “All right. You’re set.”

They were down in the cave, another place that had made Steve’s imagination light up. He had gotten the grand tour and spent quite a bit of time enthusing about the vehicles in Bruce’s collection, then Bruce had sat him down in a chair and started poking away for a blood draw.

“So, not that I’m not enjoying this vampiric experience, but what exactly is your theory about me?” Steve asked.

“I believe something changed in Themyscira. Something in your genetic code. Precisely what caused the change, I’m not sure, but I’m testing to see if you and Diana share certain traits.”

“We can’t, can we? She’s a goddess.”

“Half,” Diana corrected him. “So we might.”

Being a metahuman was something Steve had accepted a while back, even when he couldn’t remember what might have caused him to become one. But to think that it might mean he had something like that in common with Diana made his brain tie in a knot.

“My other theory is that it was the explosion that killed you. Some kind of reaction to the chemicals, the heat, something like that,” said Bruce. “But that’s less likely, I think. Themyscira is pretty unknown to us here, and the properties of just about everything on that island would be foreign to a normal human. Who knows how things would affect us there?”

“And I’m afraid I can’t answer much when it comes to that,” Diana sighed. “It was just home for me. I didn’t exactly study my surroundings in a useful way.”

Steve nodded idly, and then a memory hit him. “The pools.”

“Pools?” Bruce repeated.

“Yeah, the...the pools with the weird water. Diana, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“I do. I thought the same thing. They’re filled with healing waters,” Diana explained to Bruce. “They help Amazons to recover from injuries faster.”

“Hm,” Bruce grunted. “Would be helpful to have a sample of the water, but never mind that. Could explain some things.”

Steve nodded again, his mind a mile away. Diana rested a hand on his shoulder, just a steadying gesture rather than a prompt for him to talk about it. She had acknowledged how overwhelming the next few days might be for Steve and had told him to process things at his own pace, not to worry about her.

He loved her so much.

***

Meeting the League was both more and less strange than Steve had anticipated. More, because he hadn’t really been able to prepare himself for what it would feel like to sit down at a table with a group of the most powerful individuals on the planet, and less because he had actually felt welcome.

Not at first, not by all of them. Clark and Barry had both been great right away, shaking his hand and chatting as though they were old friends. Vic seemed uncertain about Steve, though not suspicious, and kept to himself for a while. When he finally came around enough to talk to Steve, it was mostly just polite small talk. Then there was Arthur,  who stood imperiously in the corner with his enormous arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Steve as though offended by his presence. At some point, Diana had convinced Arthur to sit by her, and after they spoke quietly for a few minutes, Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“So. Trevor,” he called out, voice booming through the room.

“Yeah?” Steve replied.

“You’re sticking around?”

Steve couldn’t help the quirk of his mouth when Diana caught his eye. “Plan to.”

“All right. Guess I’ll have to get used to it.”

Diana later told him that was about as warm and fuzzy as Arthur got, so Steve considered it a victory.

He answered everyone’s questions patiently, whenever he could. He had to apologize frequently for gaps in his memories, though Diana was able to fill in some of them. Barry in particular listened with wide eyes and asked dozens of questions about Steve’s life, especially about the war.

“Sorry, I know I’m asking a lot of stuff, it’s just _amazing_ ,” Barry said, talking a mile a minute. “It’s just, you know, when I was in school, we talked a lot about the Revolutionary War and the Civil War and World War II and Vietnam, but like, you’d think things like Korea and World War I never happened at all. Or like they were just a blip on the radar. But they were _wars_ , so it’s so weird that we just barely talked about them. So here I am, an adult-”

“Allegedly,” Arthur grunted.

“A _full-grown man_ ,” Barry went on pointedly. “And I’m only just learning about some of this stuff now, and really only because I’ve asked Diana about a lot of it. So now here _you_ are and you were _right there in it from the start_.”

“That’s his way of saying you’d better get comfortable, because he’ll keep talking at you all night.”

“Arthur,” Diana softly admonished, and Arthur clammed up.

Steve laughed. “I don’t mind. Really. I think the more I talk about it, the more I’ll remember, anyway.”

“Well, in that case…” said Barry, and off he went with another round of rapid-fire questions.

Later in the evening, Alfred had called everyone to dinner, and the conversations continued. Barry had quite a few questions about Steve’s time in California during the golden age of Hollywood, and once he was distracted, Vic had opened up to Steve enough to talk a bit more. Steve liked Vic a lot. He liked everyone a lot, even prickly Arthur, who gradually defrosted as the night went on.

It was when everyone had made their way to one of the sitting rooms and settled in with a drink that a warm glow creeped into Steve’s chest that had nothing to do with the excellent whiskey in his glass. Everyone else was in conversation, breaking into occasional laughter, and Barry sat on the floor with Miranda, whose tail wagged precariously close to the bar cart. Steve just sat quietly and observed. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat in a group as his real self and enjoyed the company of others without having to wear any sort of mask.

Diana settled into the chair next to him with a glass of wine, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. “What’s on your mind?” she asked softly.

Steve reached over and took her hand. “I’m just really happy.”

***

When Steve officially moved into Diana’s apartment, he was surprised by how different it looked.

Entire sections of the walls had been cleared of their decorations, shelves had been emptied, furniture rearranged, and a large section of the living room devoted to a bed and a small bin of toys for Miranda.

“Diana…” Steve said quietly as he took it in. “You know you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yes. I did. This is your home now, too, and I want it to reflect that.”

“You may regret that. You have much better taste.”

“I welcome change,” she said. “I’ve put away most of the things you already sent over, but I left some for you to do. And when you’re ready, we’ll shop for some new things to decorate. To make this ours.”

Steve glanced at Miranda, who seemed entirely unbothered by the fact that she was in a brand new location and had already fallen asleep in her new bed. He looked back at Diana and gave her a wicked smile.

“I’ve got one idea for how to make this place ours,” he said, leading her toward the bedroom.

She laughed, and he laughed too, and Steve thought he had never felt so whole in his life.

 

**February**

“We are _officially_ late now,” Steve grumbled, fumbling with his tie.

“We are not late,” said Diana calmly. “We are ten minutes from the museum, and they will not start without me even if we weren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, time works differently for goddesses, I get it.”

“No, but it works a little differently for the guest of honor. And I might point out that _you_ are the reason we are running behind your very strict timeline.”

“In my defense, you can’t just walk into a room wearing that kind of lingerie and not expect me to be...distracted.”

Diana stuck out her tongue, and Steve laughed at her. She straightened his tie and let her hands rest against his shirt for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I just...I want to make a good impression, you know?” he said.

“You are more nervous meeting my colleagues than you were when you walked into a room full of superpowered individuals,” Diana laughed.

“Well, that was different.”

“How?”

“That was _cool_.”

“So attending a black tie gala at one of the best art museums in the entire world, where I am receiving an award and where you will meet some of the most interesting people in the art world is not cool? While, it should be noted, you are wearing a tuxedo that makes you look like James Bond?”

Steve’s cheeks flushed. “I, uh...didn’t think that through. This is actually very cool.”

“Good save,” said Diana, kissing his red cheek. “Now then. Ready?”

“Lead the way.”

***

Diana stood by the bar, enjoying a couple minutes to herself after the whirlwind of the last hour and a half. The awards ceremony had been lovely, full of kind remarks about her contribution to her field, and people had been coming up to her left and right to shake her hand and say hello. Sylvie had given her a tight hug and introduced her boyfriend, a shy young man who seemed to be unable to look away from Sylvie for too long. A very good sign. Diana watched them dance as she waited for her drink. They made a lovely couple, smiling at each other and laughing together. They reminded Diana of herself and Steve.

She scanned the room for Steve and found him talking to an older man she didn’t recognize. She watched with a smile as Steve gestured to a statue, clearly listening to the other man’s casual lecture about it with genuine curiosity. That was something she loved about Steve. Even if he didn’t really have a particular interest in a topic himself, if it was important to someone else, he listened. Steve looked up and caught her eye. He winked, and a moment later excused himself from his conversation and made his way over to the bar.

“I see you’re making friends already,” said Diana when Steve caught up to her.

“Trying to, anyway,” Steve agreed, then he squinted at the selections behind the bar. “I guess this isn’t the place to order a beer. Think I should go full James Bond and have a martini?”

“I would love to see you with a martini,” Diana laughed. Steve rarely ventured beyond cheap beer or middle-grade whiskey, and when he did, it was generally whatever wine Diana picked out.

“All right, looks like it’ll have to be a martini night for me, then,” he said, signaling the bartender and ordering. “So, tell me. How does it feel to be surrounded by priceless works of art and still be the center of attention?”

“You are in a very flirty mood tonight.”

“You are wearing a spectacular dress tonight.”

Diana smoothed the front of her dress. It was certainly flattering, a deep wine red with a high neck and a skirt that hugged her figure. Steve had openly gaped when she put it on earlier and needed a couple moments to gather his thoughts enough to tell her she looked beautiful. She loved it when he got a little flustered.

Steve’s martini arrived and he peered at it analytically. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Diana watched as he took an experimental sip, then laughed when he wrinkled his nose like a child.

“It’ll do for now, but I don’t think I’ll ever convert,” said Steve.

“Good,” said Diana, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “I don’t want you to change.”

***

Diana’s shoes were off before they even got out of the elevator back at their apartment, and Steve had long since loosened his tie. The evening had been the best kind of tiring, and the return home welcome. Miranda’s tail thumped against the wall where her big bed sat in the living room, and Diana made her way over to greet her while Steve got some water.

“I see you’ve been getting your beauty sleep,” Diana murmured to the enormous dog. “Don’t let us interrupt.”

Miranda accepted a few more scratches behind the ear before yawning and rolling back over to sleep again, making Steve sigh and shake his head.

“Laziest dog I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“And one of the sweetest,” Diana amended.

“She is, that’s true.”

Diana stood, and again she was treated to Steve getting caught staring at her. He blushed a little when she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You have been doing that quite a lot tonight,” she noted.

“What, staring?”

“Blushing.”

Pointing it out only turned his cheeks redder. “Sorry, it’s just...you just look beautiful. I mean, you always do, but…”

“This is the first time in a hundred years you have seen me in a formal dress,” Diana guessed.

“Exactly.”

“And this is the first time I have ever seen you in formal clothing that was not a stolen enemy uniform.”

“The tux looks better, I think.”

“Very much,” said Diana, and she reached out to pull him gently by the jacket toward their bedroom. “I have to admit, you are not the only one of us who has been staring all night.”

“Is that so?”

She kissed him in response and let him walk her up to the bed, until her legs bumped into the mattress. She turned them both then, smiling at the surprised little wuff of air Steve let out when he suddenly found himself bouncing onto the bed. He grinned up at her and found the pins holding her hair in its twist. He made to pull them out, but Diana stopped him.

“Leave it up for a bit longer,” she murmured.

Before Steve could ask why, she raised an eyebrow at him, and it seemed he figured out her intentions almost immediately. His eyes widened and he lowered his hands away from her hair. Diana kissed him again, let her hands wander over the fabric of his suit, let the touches of her lips and hands give him a preview of the good feelings to come. She kissed a trail along his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at him when his breath hitched.

She didn’t bother with a slow undressing. She could feel how hard he was, how he was straining against his pants, and she wasn’t going to make him wait. Once she had him freed enough for it, she wrapped a hand around him and began to move it slowly. Steve’s fists tightened around the duvet, making Diana smirk at him.

“A bit worked up, are we?”

“I refer you back to the dress. Why do you think I kept asking about the art? I needed to cool down every three minutes.”

It was so like Steve to respond that way at a time like this, Diana couldn’t help laughing. He smiled back at her, but a second later his expression changed as she gripped at him a bit tighter. She raised an eyebrow and kept her eyes locked on his face as she lowered her mouth to him.

His response was immediate, a locking of his hips as he fought to keep them still and a tight sound in his throat as his head tipped back. This was not something Steve ever requested, not something he ever even hinted he might want, and Diana had always gotten the impression he thought it was impolite of him to do so. What shyness he possessed presented itself in interesting ways, but she was determined to get past it tonight. She worked at him slowly, deliberately, using her hand and lips and tongue all together.

“Diana,” Steve groaned, his hand ghosting over her hair.

Diana hummed in response, and Steve’s hips jolted a bit. She pressed her free hand to his leg and rubbed her thumb back and forth, to let him know it was okay. He was mostly quiet, a few low sounds here, a sharp breath there, but he never stopped stroking her hair with a halting rhythm. Before she could finish him off, though, he pushed gently at her.

“Stop...hey. Stop,” he said, sounding like he was fighting a war between his brain and his body as he said it.

Diana eased away and looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Just…” he blew out a slow breath.

“Too much?” Diana asked, letting her face convey innocence and her tone convey anything but.

He pulled at her wrist, urging her closer. They kissed as she straddled him, and she could feel him fussing around with the skirt of her dress, bunching it up until her could reach beneath it. She got the idea right away and pulled away, moving to stand and shift her underwear off. Steve’s eyes were dark and dazed as he watched her slink back to him, take her place over his lap again, and let her skirt fall back over them both. When she lowered herself onto him, taking him inside her, he pulled her down for a rougher kiss than before.

It wasn’t the first time they’d ever had sex with some clothes still on, but it was the first time they had ever been this covered. Somehow it was just as thrilling as being completely undressed, like they were sharing a secret with each other no one else would ever discover. Diana rocked her hips, Steve met her motions with his own, and they could feel absolutely everything but not see anything. Steve lifted one hand to Diana’s cheek, a tender gesture that sent heat flooding to her face. She closed her eyes, she moved faster, she gasped as pleasure built deep within her. By the time the feeling rose to a peak, she jolted with it, completely breathless.

She felt Steve’s hips snap beneath her as he came too, his grip on her waist tight and unbreakable. They hovered in that place together for a long time, dazed and lost in each other. When Diana spiraled down into Steve’s arms, rolling to her side lazily, he ran his fingertips along her shoulder.

“So that was hot,” said Steve, his voice low and rumbling.

Diana laughed. “Time has not made you much more eloquent.”

“I’m succinct, sue me.”

She smiled and tucked her face against his neck, breathing him in. She thought maybe she could just lie there for hours and hours, fall asleep just like that, not wake until the first light, but Steve groaned and stretched a little.

“I hate to move you, but this is…kind of awkward,” he said, indicating the way he was only half-out of his pants and still wearing his jacket.

Diana laughed. He did look a bit ridiculous now that they had come down from the heat of the previous moments. She shifted to let him up and watched as he undressed. The tux hadn’t been cheap, but he tossed it onto the chair by the wardrobe like he did with all his other clothes at the end of any other day. He went to get some clothes to sleep in, and in doing so caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stopped, and Diana watched him, staying quiet. She had become accustomed to his face when a memory returned to him.

He turned back to her, pointing to the deep scar on his ribs that had caught her curiosity more than once. “Glass,” he said, his voice slightly distant. “That’s how I got this. Falling through broken glass. I think I was on a mission that went south and had to get away fast. Window was closest. I’m not really...I’m not sure of the circumstances. But that’s where this came from. Hurt like hell.”

Diana stood and went to him. She gently traced her fingers along the jagged line. Steve was watching her closely, as though somehow still unsure what her reaction would be. She pressed her palm against it, almost covering it with her hand.

“I had a feeling there was an impressive story behind it,” she said, smiling at him.

“I guess that’s something.”

When Diana leaned down and pressed a kiss to the darkest part of the scar, Steve sucked in a slow breath. When Diana raised herself back up to full height to kiss his mouth, he pulled her as close as he could and pulled the long zipper of her dress down. Diana let it fall and pool at her feet and let Steve wrap her up in his arms again, let him hold her like that for a long moment. Their next kiss had more momentum to it, and this time it was Steve leading her back to the bed, running his hands over the thin lace garments she had worn under her dress.

“Oh, are we getting an encore?” she murmured playfully.

“You bet we are, angel.”

 

**March**

Steve sensed Diana before he even opened his eyes, and he grinned, still half-asleep.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back until Wednesday,” he said, a sleepy slur in his voice. He cracked open his eyes to see Diana, still in her armor, standing in the doorway. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well miss the first time we get to celebrate your birthday together, could I?” said Diana, affection in every bit of her face and voice. “But it’s still too early. Go back to sleep, love.”

“Mm-mm. Not a chance. C’mere,” said Steve, holding out a hand to her.

Diana took it and sat on the bed beside him, running a hand through his mussed hair and down his cheek. Steve turned his face to kiss her palm.

“I missed you,” said Diana.

“I missed you too.”

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

***

Steve did, eventually, go back to sleep after a while. When he woke again, the sun was peeking through the curtains, Miranda was snoozing at the foot of the bed, and Diana had curled up beside Steve with her head on his chest. Her hair was still a tiny bit damp from her shower and she smelled like rosemary and lavender. He kissed the top of her head gently, not wanting to wake her, but of course he didn’t succeed. She sighed and blinked awake slowly, already smiling.

“It’s late,” she said through a yawn, looking at the window.

“It’s almost 9:00.”

Diana groaned a little and stretched like a cat. “Then I’m running behind.”

“Running behind? For what?”

“Your birthday festivities,” she said, rolling out of the bed and looking wide awake already. “You stay here.”

“Diana, you know you don’t have to go out of your way. You just got back from a mission. You should be resting up.”

Diana just raised an eyebrow at him, which promptly put a stop to that nonsense. Steve laughed and leaned back against the pillows and pet Miranda, who had immediately taken Diana’s warm, vacated spot. Diana kissed Steve’s cheek, laughing a little at the stubble he had grown while she had been away, and she left to go to the kitchen. Steve lay there in the bed and wondered how in the world he had gotten so lucky.

When Diana returned, she had a tray with coffee, bread, and jam. “It’s not quite the fancy breakfast I had wanted to make, but I think it’ll do for now.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve insisted. “But this does look perfect.”

It really was. It was the two of them eating breakfast together, laughing at Miranda’s face as she begged for some bread, smiling at the breeze blowing through the window. It was peace and quiet and the simple pleasure of a lazy morning. Steve had not, of course, known his real birthday for all those years, and in all his aliases and all his cover stories had never guessed correctly. When he saw it written in his file, he had gotten a chill down his spine. So insignificant, really, in the grand scheme of things, and yet it had been the first piece of the puzzle of his life that had been solved. For that reason, it mattered greatly, and Diana was clearly going to make it count for him.

The rest of the day was as uncomplicated as the morning. They walked in the park and had lunch at a favorite cafe, then spent the afternoon exploring a nearby market for odds and ends. The idea was that the big finish would be dinner at home, made by Diana, featuring Steve’s favorites. She handed him a beer the minute they got home insisted that he sit and start one of his books while she cooked. Steve had just gotten really absorbed when there was a knock at the door.

Diana frowned at Steve, but Steve didn’t have a clue who it could be. Since Diana was up to her elbows in dinner preparation, Steve went to the door and opened it. When he saw who was on the other side, he froze in shock.

“Chief?”

His old friend stood there, as quietly impressive as ever, and it suddenly felt as though not one day had passed since the trenches. A flood of little memories rushed through Steve all at once, like a strobe in his mind. It wasn’t until he felt a soft hand on his back that he realized Diana had hurried over.

“I’m sorry to drop in like this.” Chief stepped inside, looking closely at Steve as though worried he might be upset. “It’s the first time I’ve been free for a while.”

Diana said something to Chief in a language Steve didn’t speak, then she placed her other hand on Steve’s arm. He looked at her.

“I’m okay,” he muttered to Diana, then he turned back to Chief. “She said you were...she explained everything, who you really are, but I still can’t…you’re still here. Like we are.”

“Different patterns, same quilt,” said Chief.

“Why don’t you two sit down?” Diana suggested gently.

Still a little dazed, Steve nodded, and he and Chief made their way to the dining table. A moment later Diana appeared with some water for both of them, then she disappeared back into the kitchen. Chief leaned back in his chair a bit and looked at Steve.

“You’ve changed, Cowboy.”

“Tends to happen after a hundred years or so.”

“You got old.”

Steve chuckled a little. “Yeah. Sure did. Older today, officially.”

“It’s your birthday?”

“So it seems.”

“Well, how about that?”

It felt surreal. Not just to be sitting there with Chief after so long, but to be sitting at a table, in a beautiful apartment, as far away from the woods and trenches and filth of war as could possibly be. They had only ever known each other in the context of war, and this felt in some ways like meeting all over again. Chief must have been thinking along the same lines, because he looked around with a slightly amused expression.

“I see you’ve added your touch to the place,” he said, pointing at the decorations that had clearly been influenced by Steve.

“Yeah, brought that property value right down the second I set foot over the threshold.”

Chief laughed. “Nah. It looks good.”

They sat quietly for a moment, Chief’s smile slowly fading. Just as Steve was about to ask if he was all right, Chief leaned forward and spoke, his voice low and earnest.

“I swear, if I had known you were still out there, I would have tried to find you. I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

“Hey. It’s okay. I know,” said Steve, meaning it with all his heart. “I don’t blame you at all. The whole...situation, it’s a big mess. But there’s nowhere to put blame, not really. It’s not just one thing or one person or...and anyway, it’s over now. I’m here now. And you’re here now. And it’s my birthday, and this is one hell of a birthday gift, so I say let’s forget all the rest for now and just catch up, yeah?”

Chief nodded, though Steve could tell he was still beating himself up. Steve didn’t push it, knowing the feeling only too well and knowing all the insistence in the world would never lead directly to self-forgiveness.

“So,” Steve went on, letting his tone lighten up. “I was just walking around with a demi-god all that time, huh? Never thought to drop that little bit of information in while you were forcing that pine needle tea on us?”

Chief smiled a little bit. “Just because I didn’t say it in English doesn’t mean I never told you.”

“That’s cheating.”

“That’s your cue to learn some new languages.”

Steve laughed, and Chief settled back in his chair, relaxing just slightly. Diana walked in carrying a massive pot of cacciatore, which smelled and looked spectacular.

“Good thing I made a big recipe,” she said as she set it on the table. “Since of course you’re staying to eat with us, Chief.”

Steve noticed that Diana briefly touched Chief’s shoulder, and it made him smile. One thing he loved most about Diana was how she would always, always take a second to do a kind thing if she could. She would take the time to offer a supportive word to a parent struggling with a child throwing a tantrum, or she would help someone carrying too many bags, or she would give a comforting little touch to a friend who is obviously struggling with guilt, and she made it so effortless and natural that the recipient couldn’t help but accept it.

She brought more dishes to the table, full of bread and salad, and poured wine for herself and for Steve. Once their plates were filled, Diana lifted her glass.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” she said, smiling beautifully.

“Happy birthday,” Chief echoed.

“Thank you. Both of you,” said Steve, feeling a surprising amount of emotion welling up in him. “I...spent a long time being uncertain about a lot of things. But right now, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so sure I was right where I’m supposed to be, when I’m supposed to be there. I’ve never felt more at home, or more like...things are right. So...so thank you. Best birthday yet, and I’ve had a few of them, so I know what I’m talking about. Cheers.”

They clinked their glasses together, and the sound seemed to ring through the ages.

 

**April**

_Hey man, how’s the shoulder? Need anything?_

_Oh I meant to tell you I finally watched Snows of Kilimanjaro and hot damn you weren’t kidding about Ava Gardner. I’m gonna have to look her up now_

_Ew why did Ava Gardner marry Mickey Rooney how did that happen?_

_WHAT she was with Frank Sinatra too??? How did I not know who she was?_

_Anyway is your shoulder doing better_

_Oh wait it’s like 3 in the morning your time_

_Sorry about that hope I didn’t wake you_

_Anyway just let me know_

Diana laughed at the series of texts from Barry. They had been lighting up Steve’s phone for a while, but Steve was sleeping far too deeply to notice thanks to pain medication and general exhaustion. Steve had joined Barry, Bruce, and Diana on a mission recently, and although they had been successful and no one had been seriously injured, Steve had taken a bullet in the shoulder. It had caused a sick sort of panic in Diana at first, but through some quick field work by Bruce and a visit to Alfred an hour later, Steve assured her with his usual bright grin that he was fine. Thanks to the healing he had acquired from the pools of Themyscira, he was right, and just a few days later the wound already looked significantly better. Still, though, he was terribly sore, and the pain made it hard for him to sleep well, which was why Diana had finally insisted he take something for it and why he was currently sleeping harder than she had ever seen.

Diana brushed his hair back from his forehead affectionately and reached for her own phone, then sent a text to Barry.

_Barry - Steve is fine, just sleeping. I’ll be sure he gets your messages when he wakes up._

Barry’s response was immediate.

_Oh good, thanks so much. Miss you guys!!!_

Diana smiled at her phone. Barry’s earnestness never failed to warm her heart. Steve had become something like an older brother figure to him in the months since they had met, looking out for Barry and giving him advice when needed. Where some people might be pushed away by Barry’s boundless energy, Steve enjoyed it and went out of his way to be a supportive friend.

Diana set her phone down and turned back to Steve. He hadn’t so much as stirred since his meds kicked in, and Diana was glad. Steve was not generally a heavy sleeper, and he was prone to waking up at least once every night, so Diana took this opportunity to see what he looked like when he was truly resting. He looked as though several years had been taken off his face, the little lines usually present smoothed. He looked peaceful and content and so beautiful it made Diana’s heart ache. She couldn’t resist stroking his hair gently, nor could she hold herself back from pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before settling in beside him to get some sleep for herself.

When Steve woke several hours later, he did so with a quiet groan. Diana was awake in an instant, sitting up to look at him.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“Mmhmm. Sore. But I’m okay,” Steve said, slurring his words a little. “What time...how long did I sleep?”

“A good, long time, which you needed, and you didn’t miss anything except some texts from friends, so there is no need for you to know the time. The only reason you want to know is so that you can go charging to your computer to catch up on work, which you are not actually behind on,” Diana gently scolded. “You are going to stay here and take something for your shoulder, and you are going to eat some breakfast, and _then_ we can discuss the time.”

“No need. It’s about 9:30,” said Steve, squinting at the window and judging the height of the sun.

Diana sighed and rolled her eyes. Once a soldier. Fortunately, Steve agreed to her demands on the condition that he could have his phone. When Diana returned with some antibiotics and a mild breakfast of toast and melon, she saw Steve leaning on his good arm and laughing at something on the screen. It made her smile.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, handing him the plate.

“Barry. He’s been grilling me about old famous people I’ve met since I told him I lived in LA in the 50’s.”

“And what famous people have you met?”

“Roughly none. Which I told him, but he’s still convinced I must just be forgetting someone. I think he has a slightly skewed idea of how it worked, living there. It’s not like I was rubbing elbows with the Hollywood set, I was selling insurance back then.”

Diana laughed and poured him some water from the pitcher by the bed. “I cannot imagine you as a door-to-door salesman.”

“Well, I wasn’t for very long. My girlfriend back then was always trying to get me out of it. She used to say I kept leaving my soul at the office.”

“I like her way of phrasing things.”

“You’d have liked her a lot. She was funny.”

Diana liked how they could discuss their pasts, especially past relationships, without it being an issue. She had not, however, ever entirely opened up about Halina. Steve knew about her, knew that Halina had been Diana’s greatest heartbreak after him, but they had never had the whole conversation. Steve never pushed it, and Diana never pushed him either. She was glad to know there were times he was loved when she was not there to love him, and she was happy to let him keep certain details to himself if he preferred.

“Would you like to tell me about her?” Diana asked.

Steve smiled at her so warmly she couldn’t keep her own smile off her face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I would.”

Diana listened while Steve told her all about Marianna, how they’d met and the way she teased him, how they used to laugh about her wild curls and his tendency to get lost in a book. He told her about the reason they parted ways, about the nightmare and the way he hit her without realizing it and how shameful it was to him. Diana listened to him talk until it was time for painkillers, until his voice faltered and he winced.

“Go wash up and I’ll get your medicine. And then you’ll sleep again, as long as you need, all right?” Diana said, bringing a hand to his cheek.

Steve nodded, quiet as he made his way off the bed and to the bathroom. By the time he came back, he was pale and clearly sore and tired.

“Come here, love. One more good sleep and you’ll be right as rain,” said Diana with a playful curl of her finger, making Steve laugh weakly.

“Let me text Barry first so he knows I’m sleeping and I didn’t die in the last two hours.”

Diana handed him his phone and waited as he fired off a text, then snatched the phone away and handed him his painkillers. Steve swallowed them down and settled back in the bed, letting Diana fuss over him a bit and tuck him in carefully.

“You’re so good to me,” Steve mumbled, wrapping his good arm around her.

“That’s because I love you,” said Diana, grinning at him.

She hadn’t planned on going back to bed, but something about the way Steve was so intent on cuddling convinced her. She lay down beside him and took his hand in hers. They lay quietly for a long moment. Diana thought Steve was asleep again until he turned his head toward her, eyes still closed.

“So good,” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

Diana kissed his hand. “And so are you.”

 

**May**

This was bad.

It was _really_ bad.

Steve was not generally prone to panic, but there he was, panicking. He wished Diana were there. But then again, he didn’t. He didn’t wish her anywhere near this mess. This mess _he_ had made. God, what would she think of him when she found out about this?

As it turned out, he did not have to wait long to find out. He turned around and realized Diana was standing right there, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Okay,” Steve began, trying to sound steady. “In my defense, it’s supposed to be the thought that counts.”

“What did you _do_?” Diana asked, looking around at their kitchen, where it looked more or less like a bomb had gone off.

“I cooked!” said Steve, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I...attempted. Tried. I made the effort. It didn’t take. Here’s the thing, though. The thing is...that I love you very much and I tried. Right?”

“Steve.”

“Yes.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I am...likely to be.”

Diana shook her head, and a trace of amusement crossed her face. She seemed to be pressing her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. Steve plowed on:

“I wasn’t just back here doing shots or anything. Look, here’s a recipe I was looking at and everything. I was going to make rum cake. You liked the stuff we had at that restaurant, so I was going to try to surprise you.”

“Oh, I am surprised. Mainly by how much of that bottle you apparently drank.”

“I wasn’t sure if it was good. The recipe called for ‘good’ rum. So I tried some. And I tried the spiced rum too, in case it was better. But then I wasn’t sure.”

“So you tried them again.”

“And then I had to try the cake and the glaze and the rum raisins. And the first two attempts at making the cake didn’t work, so…”

“Oh, Steve,” Diana laughed.

“I really wasn’t _trying_ to be drunk. It just sort of happened.”

Steve sighed and rested his head on his flour-covered arms, leaning onto the counter. Diana was laughing again, melodious and bright, and a moment later she was rubbing his back.

“Some birthday I’m giving you,” Steve grumbled. “You gave me the best birthday of my entire life and I gave you a mess and a bad cake.”

“Steve,” said Diana, still laughing, but using her most soothing tone. “You were right. It is the thought that counts. You were trying to do something very sweet.”

“Yeah, I was _trying_ , but it didn’t work.”

Diana looked around the kitchen. It did, indeed, look like a complete disaster, but it was all superficial and could be cleaned up quickly enough. Steve, on the other hand, was a much bigger mess than the room.

“Come on. Let’s get you some water. Maybe some coffee.”

“No,” Steve protested. “I’m going to fix all this first.”

“You need to let this pass. It won’t take too long. An hour or two and you’ll be feeling much better,” said Diana, gentle but insistent as she guided Steve out to the living room couch.

Steve sat obediently, and Miranda hurried over to put her head in his lap. Diana brought him water and coffee, and he grumbled some more about how she wasn’t supposed to be taking care of him on her birthday, grumbled that he was sorry, grumbled about something else as he leaned his head back against the couch and soon fell asleep.

He woke with a start over an hour later, more or less sobered up, and very disappointed in himself. Diana sat on the other side of the couch, smiling at him.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” she teased.

Steve groaned and pressed his hands against his face. “Damn it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

He felt terrible, actually, but not due to the rum. The pools on Themyscira had given him the ability to process alcohol better than most, so physically he felt great, but he was disappointed in himself for spoiling her birthday. He stood up, determined to do something about it.

“Okay. It’s not that late. It’s still your birthday. I’m fixing this.”

“Oh, are you?” Diana asked, setting aside the book she had been reading.

“Yes. Somehow. Starting with the kitchen.”

“I took care of that.”

“Diana!”

“What?”

“It’s your _birthday_. You shouldn’t be cleaning up my messes on your birthday.”

“I have had several thousand birthdays and I didn’t want egg setting on the counters.”

Steve groaned for what felt like the ninetieth time that night, and Diana laughed again.

“Steve. Honestly. The best birthday gift you could give me is just being here,” she said, standing up and pulling him into her arms. “Having you with me has made this day as special as it can be. We could just spend the evening like we do any other and it would be wonderful.”

Steve hugged her back, but like hell he was going to give up that easily. “You are being very sweet and I am absolutely not falling for that. Furthermore, I have an idea.”

“More rum?” she teased, eyes sparkling.

“Please never say that word around me again.”

Diana laughed. “So what is your idea?”

“I’ll have to run down to the store, but I’ll be quick. I promise.”

Diana pulled Steve down and kissed him. “I’ll be here.”

***

When Steve returned, he carried a grocery bag and wore a huge grin.

“So what is all this?” Diana asked as she snaked an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek.

“Maybe I can’t bake a cake, but I can set a mood,” said Steve. “Madame, if you would, please get yourself a glass of wine - I’m sticking with water for the rest of the night - and join me on the balcony.”

Diana did as he asked. Once on the balcony, Steve went about unloading the bag. He shook out the throw blanket they kept out there and set up a beautiful picnic of the prepared foods he had purchased. He had selected all of Diana’s favorites, and her face split into a huge smile when she stepped out onto the balcony with her wine in hand.

“Steve,” she said softly, looking around at the balcony.

Steve was in the process of lighting as many candles as he could, and their light created a gentle glow that made Diana look so beautiful it distracted Steve from the match he was trying to light. He managed to take care of the candle, then he walked over to her and took her hand.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said, leading her to the blanket.

“Starving.”

They loaded up their plates and Steve lifted his glass of water. “I know you’re not supposed to toast with water, but I’m also not interested in tempting fate after the cake incident, so it’ll have to do.”

Diana lifted her wine and waited for him to continue.

“I...can’t possibly summarize how much you mean to me. And if I try to say it without summarizing, we’ll be here until your next birthday. So what I’ll say is that I love you, that I’m grateful to you and for you every single day, and that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And…”

He hesitated and swallowed hard. Diana knew about the time he hit his lowest point, the time he spent in the hospital, but they had never really talked about it in too much detail. He didn’t want to bring their good mood down completely, but something in him knew he needed to tell her. Diana sat patiently, looking at him with such warmth he could feel it within. It gave him the nerve he needed to go on.

“A long time ago, I was in a bad place. Really bad. I know you know about it, but...but I think I’m only really here because of you. Back then, I was looking for an out. From life. I just didn’t want to keep going. And there was this one night that I thought I would finally figure out how to go through with it. But I had a dream about you. I didn’t know it was you, but I know it now. I dreamed that I was following you on a beach. And that you told me to stay. And the next day I woke up, and I went and got some help.”

Steve had said all this with his eyes averted, but he lifted them now to look at Diana. She had lowered her glass, and she reached for his hand.

“You’ve saved my life about a thousand times, I think, over the years,” Steve said quietly, and he lifted their joined hands so he could kiss hers. “So I want to thank you for that. And I want to say again that I love you. And that I’ve never been so happy in my life, in any iteration of it, as I’ve been with you.”

Diana blinked back a little wetness in her eyes and leaned forward to kiss Steve, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away and there was nothing at all but her.

“I love you,” Diana whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I love you, Steve.”

“Happy birthday, angel.”

 

**June**

Diana loved to dance. She especially loved to dance with Steve. For a man who did not necessarily give off the impression of it, he was remarkably graceful on the dance floor, and he would dance with her for hours if she wanted it. That night, they swayed together in the middle of a small dance floor set up in the back garden of Sylvie’s mother’s house. Sylvie and Yazid had decided to get married, just a small ceremony with family and some friends, and Diana was touched to be invited. The reception was an event full of laughter and love, champagne and hugs, the scent of flowers and herbs heavy in the evening air.

“It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?” Diana said, looking at Sylvie who was positively glowing in her white dress.

“It really was,” Steve agreed. “They look so happy.”

“Sylvie told me her mother was worried that they were getting married too soon. That they should be together for a couple of years before making such a big decision. But they’re so happy. And so well-suited.”

“If Sylvie’s mother knew how long you and I were together before deciding on forever, she’d faint.”

Diana laughed rested her head on Steve’s shoulder. He held her closer, his hand pressed gently against the small of her back. They rocked side to side until the song ended, then Steve kissed Diana’s forehead, and a second later a slightly tipsy Sylvie found her way to them and hugged both at the same time.

“Congratulations, Sylvie,” said Diana with a laugh, breaking away from Steve to hug her assistant back. “What a beautiful bride you are.”

“You two might be showing me and Yazid up,” Sylvie laughed. “You look so happy.”

“It’s contagious,” said Steve.

“So when are you going to make an honest woman of my wonderful boss?” Sylvie teased, and Steve blushed a little. “Ooh, did I give it away? You know, Diana, I told Yazid that I bet Steve had bought you a ring a long time ago.”

Diana laughed. “Speaking of Yazid, he’s looking a bit lonely without his wife.”

Sylvie hugged each of them again, then squeezed their arms. “Such a beautiful couple,” she sighed, then she hurried off to her new husband.

Diana laughed again, watching the happy couple for a moment. When she turned back to Steve, she was a bit surprised to find that he was still red in the face.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, trying to catch his eye.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a warm night.”

It was not, in fact, an overly warm night. It was pleasant, with a gentle breeze shaking the trees, and Steve had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves long ago. Diana raised an eyebrow.

“What?” asked Steve.

“You’re being...weird.”

“I am not.”

“Did Sylvie make you uncomfortable joking about us getting married? She’s a romantic, that’s all.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Mm. Your shoulders are brushing your ears, my love.”

“Want some champagne?”

Steve wasn’t the cagey sort, and he only changed the subject abruptly when he needed to, so Diana dropped it and nodded. She watched him make his way to the table serving as a bar and pour them each a glass of champagne, watched as his eyes glanced over Sylvie and Yazid, who were beaming at each other while Yazid’s grandmother patted Sylvie’s hand and offered her blessings. Something unreadable passed over Steve’s face, and when he returned, Diana took her glass and gently touched his arm.

“Are you all right?” she asked, careful not to push.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Steve, giving her the kind of winning smile that she knew had gotten him out of many a scrape.

Diana didn’t push it, and soon enough they were back to enjoying the evening as they had before. The guests sent Sylvie and Yazid off an hour later, waving and calling out well wishes as the couple drove away, and Diana and Steve left shortly after thanking the family for the lovely night. In their taxi, Diana leaned her head on Steve’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. He felt so warm and it was so comfortable that she nearly nodded off after a few minutes, but then Steve asked the driver to put up the privacy glass, turned to Diana, and spoke quietly.

“Sylvie was on to me. That’s why I got a little…” he said, trailing off.

Diana straightened up and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve...I sort of thought about…” Steve cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t really matter. I mean, you and I, we’re in it for the long haul, yeah? No doubt in my mind. We’ve told each other we want forever, and we’re actually able to have that, so...maybe actually getting married isn’t necessary. I don’t know.”

“Steve...you want to be married?”

“I remember you saying you didn’t have it on Themyscira. Marriage. It just wasn’t part of the lifestyle there, right?”

“That’s right. But it’s very much part of the lifestyle here.”

“It is.”

“And I remember you saying that you didn’t understand why people bothered to get married.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t. Then.”

“But now?”

Steve looked out the window for a moment, apparently trying to gather his thoughts. Diana waited patiently and gave his hand a little squeeze to reassure him.

“Maybe it’s partly because I spent so long feeling so disconnected from the world. Feeling like such an outsider. I think I felt that way even before the war sometimes,” he said, his voice a little distant as he thought back.

Diana understood that. He had grown up on a small farm in a small town, where most people rarely if ever left. Steve, with his big dreams and wanderlust, with his never-ending pile of books and his longing to touch the sky, had never been able to stomach the idea of spending the rest of his life doing only what he was expected to do. The thought of settling down had, in his words, sounded more like being nailed down to him, and he couldn’t stomach it.

“During the war, sometimes I’d think about what it would be like. Living in the kind of world where everyone could just settle down the way they wanted to, live in peace, not have to fight or be hurt by someone else’s fight. I’d think maybe if the world ever got to that point, maybe I’d see the appeal of it. But then again, I figured I’d been too twisted up by everything to be able to fall in love, get married, any of that. I was...terminally pessimistic by the time we met.”

It broke Diana’s heart to hear him admit to it. She had known, certainly, how jaded he was, but she also knew it was still difficult for him to own up to it, and that he was a bit ashamed of feeling that way.

“But we met,” Steve went on, looking at her with a new softness in his eyes. “And you turned a lot of that over for me. Before I knew you, I lived one day at a time. Sometimes just one hour at a time, or one minute at a time. But then I met you, and suddenly I started thinking about later, about after the war. About being with you. I’d faced the chance of death a few times before then, and it had always been...difficult, but I had accepted it each time. But saying goodbye to you and knowing it was goodbye and that we’d never get to try out the kind of life we talked about that night in Veld was the hardest thing I had ever done. I realized that I _wanted_ some of that kind of life. With you.”

“So did I,” Diana whispered. “I didn’t realize it then, but I did later.”

“I know marriage is just a ceremony and a promise when you boil it down, and we don’t have to do it to know we’re committed to each other.”

“No. We don’t. But if it’s something you would like to do, if it’s important to you…”

“What do _you_ think about it?”

Diana smiled. “I feel the same way as you do, I think. It never mattered to me before, but I can understand the appeal a bit more now that I’ve spent some time in this world. And now that you’re here. In the grand scheme, it’s a very small thing. But it does add a little weight to it all, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly,” said Steve, and now his eyes were lighting up with what Diana recognized as hope.

“Do you want to marry me, Steve?”

Steve hesitated, then nodded, very slowly. Diana felt a smile growing on her face, and after a slightly shocked moment, Steve reflected it. He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly, then he kissed her with the same kind of quiet focus of their very first kiss so long ago.

“Sylvie is going to be insufferable when she finds out,” said Diana, and they both dissolved into laughter that did not stop for quite a while.

**July**

Steve loved the beach.

He could remember the first time he ever saw the ocean after a lifetime of growing up landlocked. He had just stood on the shore and stared out at the sea for ages, shocked by the vastness and by the failing of his imagination to anticipate it. It made him feel the same sort of peace he felt when flying. He had thought that if someday he couldn’t reach the sky, maybe he could settle for the ocean.

Being on a beach with Diana certainly made a very good case for the ocean.

At the moment, she was stretched out on her back, eyes closed, arms over her head, with her hair loose and wavy from the salt water and wind. Steve set his book aside and just looked at her for a moment, enjoying the view immensely. She must have sensed it, because she opened one eye and grinned at him.

“It’s just a bathing suit, Steve,” she teased.

Steve laughed. “It’s a really, really _nice_ bathing suit.”

Diana rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows, and Steve couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss. They had the whole stretch of beach to themselves, so he didn’t feel shy about making that kiss count, or about stealing another and another until they were both breathless.

Diana pulled back with a laugh. “Sex on the beach is fine as a drink but not really a great idea as a practice.”

“Can you blame me for trying? You’re stunning.”

“And you are incorrigible.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

Diana took his hand and ran her finger over the silver band he wore. Neither of them had gone for anything flashy when they chose their rings. Diana’s own was silver with a small blue stone inlaid, so subtle that many people didn’t even notice it at first. In a way, their rings were just like their wedding had been: small, simple, and just for themselves. They had gone to city hall together and made their promises again, and nothing had really changed, and yet something had. They didn’t love each other more because of their marriage, and they didn’t feel somehow more committed now that they had the license at home in their strongbox. Still, though, there had been something about standing there with Diana, her hands in his, making things official in every possible way that had brought a new sort of peace to Steve.

This time a year ago, Steve had long since resolved himself to never living a normal life. And yet there he was, lying on a beautiful beach with Diana, with his wife, on what was essentially their honeymoon, as though somehow through all the years of pain and mistakes and regrets he had done something to deserve it all. Looking at her now, at her sweet smile and those eyes that made him never want to look away, he felt the urge to pinch himself. Diana ran her fingers over his jaw, smiling at the bit of stubble growing there. Vacation laziness had gotten the better of Steve that morning, but Diana didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” she murmured.

“I’m thinking I’ve come a long way since the last time we were on a beach together,” said Steve, leaning into her touch and closing his eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking I’d like to take you back to bed.”

Steve opened his eyes, mischief instantly glinting in them that mirrored hers. “Well, twist my arm, Princess.”

 

**August**

The late summer days brought with them a natural inclination toward leisure. Steve and Diana had fallen into a routine on the days they were not called upon to help save the world. Diana went to the museum, Steve assisted Bruce with researching and archiving everything from criminal records to chemical compounds, they walked to the store together to select ingredients for dinner, cooked, and ate on the balcony, where they would sit until the sun went down. After that they tidied up and sat inside with a glass of wine and some reading or watched a movie, then went to bed. Weekends were even more restful, all sleeping in and making love mid-morning before strolling in the park or browsing shops for the rest of the day.

They could be quiet together all day, or they could talk for hours without a lull. A quiet night in was no less exciting than a night out on the town. Not a day went by that they didn’t make each other laugh boisterously, not a day went by that they didn’t tell each other how loved they were. They were happy in a way that brought the words “honeymoon period” to Diana’s mind, but something in her told her they’d never entirely leave it. It wasn’t honeymoon. It was happiness.

That wasn’t to say things were always perfect. They disagreed, there was tension on missions, and both had past pain that sometimes caused them to pull back from each other at times. They had both lost so much, so many times, that sometimes they both had trouble trusting their good fortune. Still, though, at the end of the day, they were deeply in love and deeply devoted to each other, and the rest always fell into place because of that.

One night near the end of the month, Diana had her legs up on Steve’s lap while he read and she texted with Lois. She was too absorbed in the conversation to notice that Steve had picked up his own phone, so she was a bit surprised when she got a text from the man sitting on the same couch.

_I love being with you._

Diana beamed, first at her phone and then at Steve, who had already returned to his book but wore a little smile on his face. Diana set her phone aside and gently tugged the book out of Steve’s hands. Graceful as ever, she moved to his lap, straddling so she could cradle his face in her hands.

“I love being with you, too.”

 

**September**

Steve had been in Gotham for a week. Bruce had called and asked for his input on some modifications he was making to the jet, and Steve had been only too eager to help out. It proved to be a challenging visit, but a rewarding one, and he had also enjoyed getting to spend some time with Bruce’s kids, who he hadn’t really had much time with yet. It was an odd household, and sometimes you could cut the tension with a knife, but it was impossible not to ultimately be charmed. The boys were as different as could be, and Steve got along great with each for various reasons. He had also had a good time swapping war stories with Alfred now that he could remember more of them, and his respect for the older man only continued to grow. As nice as the visit was, though, when it came time for Steve to return to Paris, it felt like the plane couldn’t fly fast enough.

He landed at around noon, and as jet lagged as he was, he couldn’t bear the idea of going home and having to wait hours before seeing Diana. He went by the apartment just to drop off his bag, then picked up a bouquet of flowers and went straight to the museum. Sylvie greeted him brightly and offered to put the flowers in water.

“She’s giving a tour at the moment,” Sylvie explained. “But I believe it will be over soon.”

“Think it’ll be okay if I sneak a peek?” asked Steve, which made Sylvie give him an “oh, you” sort of look that he took to mean “yes”.

He left Diana’s office and headed out toward the museum proper, where he quickly located Diana. She was kneeling down in the middle of a small group of children, maybe five or six years old, showing them some of the tools she used to restore the ancient pieces she worked with. The children were mesmerized by her, listening intently and genuinely enthusiastic to be taught. Diana could not have looked more natural surrounded by the schoolchildren, and Steve hung back, just admiring.

Steve knew how much Diana loved children. It had never exactly been a secret. There was no baby in a grocery store she didn’t wave to, no toddler in a stroller she did not greet. She could easily interact with children of all ages, and she took so much joy in being around them that it was contagious. Steve liked kids too, always had, but Diana had something special when it came to them. The conversation, however, had always just danced around the important matter, and they had never quite sat down and discussed it.

Diana looked up from the children, laughing at the antics of one little girl, and saw Steve. Her smile only grew when he caught her eye. She gave him a wave, which he returned, then she turned her attention back to the children. Steve just hung back and watched, until it was time for the students to leave with their teachers. Diana said goodbye to each one of them, remembering every name, and she smiled after them as they left. Steve walked up behind her and placed a hand on her back.

“Missed you,” he said softly.

Diana turned to him and hugged him. “I missed you too. I didn’t know you’d be coming by.”

“I didn’t want to wait to see you.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“Not anymore, I’m not.”

“Charmer,” said Diana, and she gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad to see you, but you should go home and get some sleep.”

“You’ll wake me when you get in?”

“Promise.”

Steve obeyed, sneaking a quick kiss when no one was looking and squeezing her hands before he left. He opted for a taxi this time instead of walking, and by the time he walked into the apartment he felt the weight of sleep pulling him down. Miranda jumped up onto Diana’s side of the bed and fell asleep beside Steve. He slept hard until he felt Diana rubbing his back to wake him, gradually bringing him back to the surface. Without opening his eyes, he reached out and pulled her into him.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled.

“I almost didn’t want to keep my promise to wake you. You looked very comfortable,” said Diana, kicking her shoes off so she could curl up against him. “But I figured you would be hungry by now.”

“Mmhmm.”

“We could order in.”

“Mmm.”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Steve.”

“Hmm?”

“Use your words.”

Steve laughed a little. “Sorry. Sleepy. Comfy. Let’s get Vietnamese. I could eat my weight in banh mi.”

“Then banh mi you shall have. Thank you for the flowers, by the way. They’re lovely. It was a very sweet surprise.”

“I liked seeing you with that school group.”

Diana smiled. “They were wonderful.”

“I could tell they were having a great time with you.”

“They were very inquisitive. One of the boys had lots of questions about dinosaur art. It took me a while to realize he meant cave drawings, so I had to explain a bit about the timeline of dinosaurs and humans.”

“Dinosaur art,” Steve repeated with a little chuckle.

“It was very cute.”

“You’re so good with kids. I’ve never seen a kid not immediately love you.”

“Well, I love them, too. I can’t imagine _not_ loving them.”

Steve hesitated, then decided then was as good a time as any to ask the question.

“Do you want kids?”

Diana was quiet for a long moment, and at first Steve worried he had upset her with the question. When she spoke, though, it was with the soft, measured voice she used when she was choosing her words carefully.

“I love children very much. And in another life, yes. Yes, I would.”

“But not in this life.”

“In this life, I fight monsters and criminals and the forces of evil and I see what those things do to the world. And beyond that...there’s the immortality question You and I, we’re unique. There’s no way to predict whether our child would be like us. What if we had a child who aged normally? Or even just at a slower speed, but still…”

“What if we had a child and outlived them,” Steve finished, his voice low.

“Yes.”

Steve held Diana closer. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Neither could I.”

They lay there quietly for a while, then Diana lifted her head to look at Steve. “Do you want children?”

“For a while I did, because it was just what you were supposed to do, to get married and have kids. Then I didn’t, because of that whole thing where I don’t like having to do what I’m supposed to do. Then I didn’t because of the war. And after that…well, the idea of having kids when you’re a mysteriously immortal amnesiac who has to change identities every so often felt a little unrealistic. But since we’ve been together again, I’ve thought about it a few times. Not seriously. But I’ve thought about it. And...I feel the same way you do.”

“In another life.”

“In another life. Yeah.”

Steve played with a lock of Diana’s hair, twining it around his finger a few times. Diana was watching his face, maybe looking for any sign that he was just trying to make her feel better. He gave her a little smile to show he was all right.

“I think seeing you today with those little kids just got me thinking,” Steve went on. “And I spent some more time with Bruce’s kids this week, all together, you know? Got to sort of see the family dynamic at work, such as it is. I don’t know. I know they’re not perfect, they’ve got their stuff, but still. At the end of the day they could still sit at the dinner table together. It was nice.”

“They’ve been through so much together. And separately.”

“Too much. And I saw that too. I think, for me...the whole kids, family thing? I think it could be nice. But I don’t think it’s something I can’t live without. Maybe if the world changed and we knew it would all be okay, maybe if we could learn for sure how our biology worked...maybe. But you’re all I need, Diana.”

Miranda started to wag her tail beside them, and she nudged under Diana’s arm to try and force some pats. Diana laughed and scratched her ears.

“Okay, you and Miranda. We need Miranda, too,” said Steve, reaching to give Miranda’s belly a rub. “We have a good thing going, don’t we? Just like this.”

“We’re lucky.”

“We are.”

Miranda wagged.

 

**October**

One thing Diana learned about Steve that she found truly delightful was that he absolutely _loved_ Halloween. It had surprised her, actually, because she had assumed that a man who had made a career of pretending to be someone he wasn’t and who had spent such a long time living under aliases wouldn’t seek out that sort of thing anymore, but she was wrong. Steve loved Halloween, and he took it very seriously. He was, therefore, understandably disappointed when he learned that it was not exactly the big celebration in France that it was in America.

“The French are missing out,” he had grumbled.

“We can celebrate it together,” Diana had suggested.

“Yeah, we could,” Steve had agreed, but Diana could tell he was still a little let down by the idea of a two-person Halloween.

That was how they ended up hosting the first annual Justice League Halloween party in their apartment.

Diana organized the whole thing in secret, receiving terse responses from Bruce and Arthur, polite RSVPs from Vic and Clark, and a text message approximately three paragraphs long from Barry asking what he could bring, whether he should dress as another League member to mess with them, and if Miranda would like special dog treats for the occasion. As far as Steve knew, their Halloween was going to consist of Diana making a special dinner, watching scary movies, and eating plenty of candy. He had no idea their friends would be involved and in full costume.

Diana adjusted the wings of her costume. She had opted to dress as a butterfly, which allowed her to wear a long, slinky green dress that Steve had mentioned on many occasions that he liked very much. Her hair was down, and a little crown of flowers had been pinned to her hair. Respectful though each of the men in the League always were to her, each one of them had reacted to her costume with some variation on widened eyes, raised eyebrows, blushing, or an exclamation along the lines of “whoa” that made her laugh. She took that to mean Steve would probably like it, too.

Thanks to Barry, the apartment had been decked out in everything from pumpkins to cobwebs to strings of orange lights. Diana had indeed still taken care of the plans Steve believed they were following for the night, and had laid out nothing less than a feast on the dining room table. There was a stack of DVDs sitting on the coffee table, all manner of movies that ranged from campy fun to truly frightening, and bowls of candy littered every surface. It was over the top, certainly, but Diana did nothing halfway.

“When’s he getting here?” Barry asked, bouncing around on the balls of his feet. He was, by far, the person who had put the most effort into his costume, some elaborate-looking character from a horror movie Diana hadn’t seen. “I’m gonna sweat off this face paint waiting.”

“Oh, you mean your makeup?” said Arthur, who had already gotten into the liquor and hadn’t bothered with a costume at all, but no one fought him on it.

“Makeup is generally subtle,” Bruce argued. Bruce had not tried much harder than Arthur, but at least his costume of an all-black outfit with a moon and stars on his shirt could get decent mileage out of the “Dark Night” pun.

“And not creepy,” Vic chimed in, fiddling with the eyepatch on his pirate costume.

“Be nice,” Lois implored, while Clark nodded in agreement. They were adorable in their Mary Poppins and Bert costumes, and Diana had already taken several pictures. “It’s almost 5:30. He should be here soon.”

Bruce checked his watch. It had been him who had set Steve up with something that got him out of the house, asking Steve to work some of his well-honed spy magic and tail a shady businessman for the day. Diana appreciated that it wasn’t just busy work, because Steve wouldn’t have liked being sent on a wild goose chase just for the sake of a party.

“He’s here,” said Clark, who could easily hear Steve in the lobby. “Two minutes.”

Barry’s excitement went from high to bubbling over, and he zoomed to stand behind the door, clearly planning to pop out and try to startle Steve. Diana laughed and shook her head, and she took her place to be the first thing Steve would see when he walked in. The grin on her face glowed when she heard the key in the lock, and then-

“Diana?” Steve said, blinking when he caught sight of her.

“Happy Halloween!” everyone shouted at once, just before Barry zipped around the door and nearly knocked Steve over with a hug.

Steve looked shocked for a second, then laughter lit his eyes. He looked around, greeted everyone, cracked up when he saw that Miranda had been dressed in a lab coat to be a mad scientist, the shaggy hair on her head spiked up and everything, and accepted the drink Arthur shoved his way.

“I don’t even have a costume,” said Steve.

“Oh, yes you do,” said Diana. “Laid out on the bed. Go on.”

Steve kissed her cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to her, then he went off to find his costume. He returned a few minutes later in the costume from _Top Gun_ , shaking his head directly at Barry. “This had to be your doing, kid.”

“Proud of it,” said Barry, who was grinning ear to ear.

“This is just...I can’t believe you all did this. This is fantastic.”

“And, hopefully, a new tradition,” said Clark, holding up his beer.

Everyone else lifted their drinks and toasted. Diana’s hand found Steve’s and he squeezed it, looking at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“And all of us love you,” said Diana.

***

The party was as big a success as Diana could have hoped. They watched several movies, ate until they were stuffed, laughed together, swapped candy, played a few ridiculous games, and enjoyed a night together without threat from the outside, which was a rarity. By the time everyone said their goodnights and headed out for the hotel rooms Bruce had reserved for them all, the night had mellowed into a pleasant, comfortable kind of quiet. Diana closed and locked the door, shrugged off her butterfly wings, and walked over to Steve. He had long since taken off the silly jacket, and he was pouring himself a nightcap. Diana hugged him from behind, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Did you have a nice time?” she asked.

Steve turned around. “This was perfect. This was...I had a blast. I can’t believe you did all this for me. That you all did this for me.”

“Believe it. You deserve it.”

Steve’s eyes flickered over Diana. She knew that look, and she leaned in to kiss him. His hands went to her waist immediately, warm and a little rough and exactly the thing she wanted to feel.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered to him, her voice low and husky from laughter.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

 

**November**

It snuck up on Steve that year. Truth be told, he had assumed he was cured. That he wouldn’t feel that creeping blue anymore because he was so happy with Diana. With his job. With his home, his neighborhood, his dog, his lifestyle. He had everything.

Including nightmares.

It wasn’t as though Diana hadn’t witnessed his nightmares before. And he had seen plenty of hers. It was just what happened when you lived the lives they lived, saw the things they saw, and they knew how to deal with it. Steve needed space and fresh air and a steadying hand, while Diana needed tea and gentle words. At least, that’s how it was when things were normal. When it was the routine bad dreams.

Steve woke up early one day in the second week of November covered in a cold sweat, feeling so sick to his stomach he thought he might vomit. He was alone. Diana wouldn’t be back until late afternoon. Miranda whined from her place at the foot of the bed, clearly picking up on his distress, but Steve couldn’t seem to move his shaking hands to pet her. It took him almost half an hour to get out of bed to take her for a walk and feed her.

Somehow this year it was worse than ever before. Maybe it was because he knew what the dreams meant this time. He knew what every flash, every bang, every jolt meant, knew what it felt like when his flesh seared off of his bones, how it felt to burn his lungs by inhaling gas. He knew what he had felt and why, could remember the fear he felt in the moments before he pulled the trigger in that plane, could remember how it felt to say a silent goodbye to everyone and everything he had loved in this world.

By the time they made it back to the apartment, Steve was exhausted, and he fell back into the bed almost immediately. He just wanted to stay in there all day. He wanted to take a sleeping pill or two and repeat it the next day and the next sleep away the next couple weeks until this awful anniversary passed. But he couldn’t even bring himself to roll over to the nightstand to open the bottle and shake out a couple capsules.

His phone was lighting up and buzzing. It made him flinch. He couldn’t reach for it.

He fell back asleep eventually, more like his body giving out than relief.

***

The next time he woke, it was early evening. Diana had been home for hours, and he hadn’t even noticed. She was there, though, in the bed beside him, hair freshly washed and braided, wearing one of his shirts, reading on her tablet. Steve rolled onto his side to look at her, but didn’t lift himself up. She smiled at him.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said.

“No, I’m...I’m good, I just took too long a nap. I’m okay. How was the conference?”

“Riveting,” she joked. “I can tell you all about it if you’d like to take another long nap.”

“Sure.”

Normally he would have made some joke right back at her, offered to explain the schematics of whatever jet he was working on, so Diana immediately knew something was up. She set her tablet down and turned to face him, her eyes scanning him closely.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

Steve preferred to look at the blanket instead of meeting her eyes.

“It’s a weird time of year for me. I always get a little...off. Sleep too much. I think it’s just…” he made a vague gesture.

“I understand,” Diana said, her voice soft.

“Yeah?”

“Of course. We all retain things.”

Steve nodded, and when she started to stroke his hair, he inched a bit closer to her. She didn’t ask any questions or push him, just offered her silent support and love, and he could not have been more grateful.

“What do you need, Steve? How can I help?” she asked after a little while.

“This helps. Just this. A lot, actually.”

“Do you want me to take some time off of work?”

He almost said no, not because he wanted to handle it himself or because he felt ashamed, but because he hated the idea of Diana seeing the worst of it. Seeing him sleeping too much, seeing the headaches, seeing the nightmares. He didn’t want her to feel like it was her fault, or to feel helpless against it. But despite all that, he nodded, because he knew he needed it. Needed her. Needed help to cope.

“Maybe just a couple days?” he asked hopefully.

Diana nodded. “I’ll be here for you. For now, how about something to eat?”

His first instinct was to say no, that he wasn’t hungry, but he realized how much he didn’t want to give in to it. Not anymore. He wanted to feel better, or at least to try.

“Okay,” he said, and Diana smiled.

While she went to heat up some food, Steve worked on pulling himself out of bed. This part was familiar - the sore muscles, as though he had been working out all day instead of just lazing around in bed. Miranda wagged at his feet, hoping for another walk, though Steve was certain Diana would have taken her out as soon as she got home. He scratched between her ears, then finally managed to get up. He hated how slowly he was moving, like he was walking through water to get to the kitchen.

Diana was standing at the stove, stirring some leftover soup as it warmed. Steve leaned against the counter and watched for a moment. It was one of those silences that often passed between them, full of unsaid but understood things. Eventually, he couldn’t stand the lack of contact a moment longer, and he moved closer to rest his head against her shoulder. Still, neither spoke, but he felt so much better just knowing she was right there, just touching her.

Diana divided the soup between two bowls and they sat together at the table. Midway through their meal, she took Steve’s hand in hers.

“It’s only natural, you know. To feel something on the anniversary of what happened. I know I do,” she said, her voice gentle.

“You do?”

She nodded. “Every year. For this. For other things, on other days. And I know, in the long run, it’s just a date. A day. It’s arbitrary, really, how we assign meaning to specific days. It wasn’t the same way on Themyscira. We had celebrations, holidays, that sort of thing, but they weren’t dictated by a calendar so strictly. It was the same way we treated time. It was a thing we knew about, understood, but we did not obey it without question. When I came here, that all changed. So I can understand, in that way, how much a particular day can mean.”

“How do you deal with it?”

Diana stirred the soup in her bowl and considered her answer. “In different ways. Every experience affected me differently. Sometimes I need to work, to stay busy. Sometimes I distract myself. Books, shopping, organizing my desk...things like that. Companionship, from time to time. To tell you the truth, though, I still do have to take a little time. To remember, and to remind myself how far I’ve come, and to pay my respects. It’s usually only a few minutes of my day, but...I acknowledge what I remember, acknowledge my experience, I give myself a few minutes where I’m not pushing it away. Where I let myself feel whatever it is I need to feel, without a barrier or a mask.”

“You just let it out.”

“I do. At least a little of it.”

“And it helps?”

“It’s a bit like chipping a pebble’s worth of weight off of a boulder. But, yes, it does help. Given time, it adds up. It makes that weight a little easier to lift the next time it comes around.”

Steve nodded, lost in thought for a few minutes, and he felt Diana’s other hand cover his.

“And you don’t just have one pair of hands to help you carry it anymore,” Diana reminded him.

Steve squeezed her hands. “Neither do you.”

 

**December**

The bed had never felt warmer or more welcoming.

Music played softly from the next room, gentle piano and guitar chords drifting through the air as Steve walked into the bedroom with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He wasn’t wearing a thing except for his father’s watch, and Diana grinned at the sight. He struck a pose in the doorway, returned her smile with his most dashing one, and winked.

“You know, Etta wrote in her journal about you doing something like that to a friend of hers once,” said Diana. “I believe you were wearing pants at the time, though.”

“I remember that,” said Steve with a chuckle. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh, I bet you could have.”

“Well, maybe. But it was too funny an opportunity to pass up.”

Steve opened the champagne expertly, hardly making a sound with the cork, and he poured them each a glass.

“Not long until midnight now,” said Diana, glancing at the clock.

“Hell of a year,” said Steve fondly. He clinked his glass gently against hers. “So. What are your New Year’s resolutions?”

“Well, let’s see. I resolve to learn a bit more planes so that my eyes don’t glaze over when you talk about them.”

“Oh, I like that one. I resolve to learn more about art so that I don’t have to stop you every fifteen seconds to ask questions when you’re talking about work.”

Diana eased back against the pillows. “I resolve to wear that blue dress you like more often.”

“Maybe starting tomorrow?” asked Steve eagerly, making Diana laugh.

“If you like.”

“I do like. Very much.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Okay, I have another one. I resolve to cook more.”

“Then I resolve to buy another fire extinguisher.”

“That was _one time_.”

“That was _six_ times, Steve.”

“Okay, but in my defense, one of those times was supposed to be flambé.”

Diana laughed again and tugged on his hand, urging him close so that she could kiss the smile on his lips. They both nearly forgot the champagne in their hands, nearly spilled as they got caught up in kissing each other. When Diana pulled back, Steve was looking at her with so much adoration in his eyes it made her heart flip over. She stroked his cheek with her thumb.

“I resolve to love you the way you should be loved, every day, from now until forever,” said Diana softly, gazing into those blue eyes as though she may never stop. “I resolve to always love you, and to love you more by the day.”

Steve closed his eyes and rested his head against hers. He breathed her in, then again.

“And I resolve to make sure you know that’s the way I love you,” he said after a moment. “Every day.”

The sound of fireworks rang out, muffled by the closed windows, and they both looked over to see the spectacular display. Colors lit up the night, light sparkled in the sky, and everything felt so perfect, so right, Diana felt her throat tighten. Steve took both their glasses and set them on the nightstand so that he could hold her face in both his hands, cradling her like she was something fragile and precious.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

“Here's to many more.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: as of publishing this chapter, I still haven't seen Justice League, so my interpretation of each character is pretty loose. I'm also pulling more from the comics for Bruce specifically because I just prefer a world with the Robins and the rest of the Batfam in it. 
> 
> I'm considering doing either a sequel of some kind or a series of one-shots that would allow me to flesh out some of the ideas I had that didn't make it into this story, some alternate ideas I had about things like how Steve survived, what they were each doing in the chapters where they weren't featured, maybe some good ol' fluff, etc. It wouldn't be terribly formal, just something for fun. For now, though, my life is pretty hectic, so it may be a while before I have this kind of time to dedicate to writing. Bear with me!
> 
> Also, Barry was definitely dressed as the Babadook for Halloween.


End file.
